


The Star (-17)

by handdrawnisopach



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon What Canon?, Discussion of PTSD, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Slavery, Jango Fett will be Mand'alor, Jaster Mereel is Mand'alor, Jaster Mereel is a Good Dad, M/M, Mandalorian Culture, Mando'a, Melida/Daan, Qui-Gon Jinn is a Good Jedi Not a Good Man, Tarre Vizsla was a Jedi, True Mandalorians are Moderates, meet as kids, soft romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:49:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24887110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handdrawnisopach/pseuds/handdrawnisopach
Summary: Jaster Mereel wins a baby Jedi in a sabacc game.  Jango Fett makes a new friend.  Obi-Wan Kenobi accidentally becomes the Jedi ambassador to Mand'alor.  This somehow all ends up happily ever after.
Relationships: Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 592
Kudos: 3273





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A soft, fluffy id piece inspired by several different conversations on the subobi discord. I needed a break from the dark, angst crap I usually write. Jango and Obi-Wan meet as young teenagers but nothing happens (besides crushes and blushing) until they're both adults. Also, Qui-Gon Jinn is not very nice here and shouldn't be raising kids.
> 
> This story is fully outlined, but I didn't expect 11k worth of words from the first page. Please be patient with me.

Jaster grinned as the light at the center of the table flashed indicating the sabacc shift. The stars were with him right now, and he was gambling with six crates of fancy spice meant for the exotic clubs on the luxury planet of Zeltros. However, the original owner of the spice had been the principle of a Hutt bounty contract for illegal slaving. When the Hutts bothered to put out a bounty on a slaver’s head then Jaster considered his duty to the galaxy to end the _hu’tuun_.

He and Jango had freed the sentient pile of shavit’s live cargo. His son was in the hotel suite upstairs with them as Jaster worked on converting the slaver’s ship, belongings, and ordinary cargo into a lump sum of credits to pay for their new lives. The ship and the personal effects had been sold to an aqualish with plenty of credits and a policy of not asking questions if you returned the courtesy. The silks, strange foods, and luxury goods had all been sold at fair price to legitimate merchants in the inner city where the aristocrats lived. That left Jaster with six crates of club drugs and another two crates of expensive hold-out blasters he was keeping for himself. 

Since Jaster didn’t feel like dealing with the kind of scum who traded in spice, he’d found himself a suitably disreputable tapcafe and staked the crates on a promising looking game of sabacc. Jaster was decent at sabacc and went in planning to bow out once he had saleable goods whose owners would accept the spice as consolation for their loss. However, he was already ahead several times what the spice was worth and up a ship much to the frustration of the tall, odd looking human man in a ragged poncho who’d staked it.

“Last ante,” the croupier droid buzzed. Jaster considered the small screen in front of him listing the items now technically in his possession. He had a good feeling so he selected the oshiran sapphires he was planning on having set in a knife hilt for Jango for the pot.

The tall man scowled at him. “I have nothing more to raise,” he protested.

Jaster shrugged. “Then fold, friend. The cards don’t favor you tonight. Best to walk away before you lose something you can’t replace.” It was, perhaps, harsher than the man deserved. Jaster wasn’t actually going to keep the poor bastard’s ship, but it was bad form to gamble with something you couldn’t afford to lose.

“Does the house allow labor contracts to be staked?” the man demanded of the croupier droids. The question caused the young being at the man’s shoulder to flinch. From the nervous tension in the being’s shoulder and eagerness to anticipate the man’s needs, Jaster had assumed the being, swathed in a brown cloak that obscured every detail except that they were humanoid, was the man’s child.

Glancing between Jaster’s suddenly icy glare and the stubborn jut of the other human’s jaw, the wookie who was the only other player left folded with a graceful nod to Jaster. Jaster was fairly sure the wookie was a smuggler and would be pleased to turn her loss of some truly beautiful laroon wood into a trade for Jaster’s spice. “This establishment does not allow the staking of labor contracts or other forms of sentient merchandise,” the droid informed Jaster’s remaining opponent.

The man scowled ferociously, and the being behind him still looked like they’d be cowering if they weren’t frozen in place. Jaster knew scared children. The Death Watch had made orphans and then tried to brainwash the children into cannonfodder. Jaster’s own son still woke up screaming some nights. The figure in the brown cloak was young, scared, and dependent on some bastard who’d just staked them in a game of sabacc with a Mandalorian. “How about a private side bet,” Jaster said conversationally. “I’ll stake you for this ante. You win, you get your ship and the contract but forfeit the pot. I win, I get the labor contract and the pot.”

Since the man’s other choice was to fold and lose his ship, he agreed through gritted teeth. Jaster tapped on his screen indicating he was staking the laroon wood for the man. “Lay out your cards, please,” the droid buzzed ignoring the very illegal side bet.

The man had pure sabbac, negative twenty-three. Jaster pulled his final card out of the stasis field and laid out an Idiot’s Array. “Better luck next time, friend.” The stars loved Jaster tonight, and he’d been on both their good and bad sides often enough to know not to push. “I think I’m done for the night, Cee-Six-Oh. Close me out?”

“Yes, sir. Congratulations and have a good night,” the droid said as the screen in front of Jaster went dark.

Ignoring the man for the moment, Jaster turned to wookie. “You almost had me in the third ante,” he said letting his smile leak into his voice. “Let me buy you a drink. I have a business proposition for you, a one-time deal to help you cover losses tonight. One enthusiast to another.”

The wookie gave a trilling growl of acknowledgement. A ‘one-time business deal’ to cover a sabacc loss meant returning part of someone’s lost goods or offering them something else of value. It was hardly unheard of especially with a win as big as Jaster’s. He’d buy a round of drinks for the house as well since being miserly would only invite retaliatory violence. Jango was still too young and proud to understand why it was important to be gracious in victory, but Jaster knew he’d mellow in time. Jaster had.

“As for you,” Jaster turned to the man. He really should keep the ship and teach the bastard a lesson. “My creed doesn’t allow me to keep slaves. Lucky for you and your child.” Then he took holoproj representing the man’s ship and slid it across the table. “Never gamble what you can’t afford to lose, friend. Not everyone is bound as I am.” If it hadn't been for the child, Jaster would have kept the ship. However, it wasn’t fair to punish a kid for their parent being a bantha’s ass.

Normally, that would be the end of it. Jaster bought the wookie a drink, and she quite happily agreed to take the spice off his hands for a nominal handling fee to cover the cost of the cargo droid. She growled a question at Jaster as they concluded business. “No, my son’s upstairs. The bounty we just took had a few complications that needed to be resolved before we cashed in. Some of those complications happened to be sentient.” He gestured at the pile crates and pile cred chits droids were gathering inside the protective cage where the establishment kept the player’s collateral. “They need money or they’ll end up right back where they started.”

The wookie chuckled and patted the top of Jaster’s helmet. He didn’t recognize the exact wording in Shyriiwook, but it sounded like ‘squishy-sweet in a hard shell’. She led the cargo droid laden with the spice away leaving Jango to stare at his ridiculous pile of winnings. A twi’lek woman wearing a few pieces of gauze and chain pretending to be clothes sashayed over. Jaster held up a hand to keep her back. His armor was rigged with enough nasty surprises it could be lethal for a stranger to go groping around. “Can I help you, mistress?” he asked politely as she pouted.

“The boss wanted me to tell you we can take this off your hands for a fair price,” she said in a thick Ryl accent fluttering her eyelashes. “You and I can go somewhere… private and talk about it?”

“You know, I’m not going to take you less seriously because you run this place, friend,” Jaster said dryly, noting the high-class and expensively discrete bodyguards observing the situation. “And if you are offering fair prices I’d be happy to walk out of here with a cred chit instead of a hoverpallet.”

The twi’lek gave a throaty laugh. “Goddess, I love mandos. Truly. You’re such practical beings.” She snapped her fingers and a pretty, female bothan dressed in more conservative tunics hurried out of the cage where she was supervising the loading of goods to give the twi’lek a datapad. The twi’lek made some notes on the datapad and handed it over for Jaster to review. “Will you be staying for a drink afterwards?” she asked idly. “The view from my office is actually spectacular.”

“I can only imagine,” Jaster replied with a little genuine regret. “But my son is waiting on me.”

“Of course you’ll want to get back to him. No offense taken.” The twi’lek rested her hands on her hips but in good humor rather than provocatively.

She wasn’t gouging Jaster too badly from the prices she had listed next to the items he’d won. Good manners made friends after all. It was worth her slight undercutting to avoid spending more time going from merchant to merchant in the wealthy district while everyone stared at his armor. Jaster adjusted a couple of the more humorously lowball offers. “Just a few suggestions.” He passed the datapad for her to confirm the changes.

“Excuse me.” Jaster resisted the urge to close his eyes and sigh. The tall bastard who’d lost his ship was back. “If you’re willing to sell, what would you take for the crate of sil-plat scrambler chips?”

“What?” both Jaster and the twi’lek said at the same time. Sil-plat scramblers were no joke and extremely illegal in every part of civilized space. Even having the components to make one, like the chips, was an arrestable offense on most planets.

The twi’lek was scowling. “That wasn’t on the register. Mando, do you mind?”

“No. I’ll help you open the crates,” Jango said grimly. He didn’t need the trouble a whole crate of sil-plat chips would bring him. Let alone whatever else the original being who staked them might have lied about. He joined the proprietor and her assistant in the cage opening all the crates and checking their contents against the listed description. Whoever had staked the sil-plat chips had staked two other crates. One contained cheap slugthrowers. The third had a live energy spider in it. Jaster shot the thing before it could injure someone. The proprietor of the tapcafe was fuming, hissing questions to her assistant about how the crates hadn’t been checked before they’d been put in the cage.

The twi’lek proprietor gave up with her assistant and turned to Jaster. “I’m so sorry for this mess, mando. I will absolutely compensate you for the value of what was listed on crates’ manifest.”

Jaster didn’t say anything since she’d lifted four of the sil-plat chips already. Jaster had taken two himself. “That’s fair.” The annoying man cleared his throat pointedly. Jaster glared at him. “If you want your damn chips, negotiate with her.” If the twi’lek was smart she’d dump the remaining chips down the nearest sewer grate and call it a day.

That should have, truly this time, been the end of it. Then Jaster caught the tall bastard using Jedi mind-fuckery on the proprietor to avoid paying for the crate of chips. Blasters were pulled, then a slug-thrower borrowed so Jaster could adequately make his point. At the end, the proprietor had a lightsaber of her very own, the tall bastard had his chips and a slug in his arm, and Jaster was significantly richer. He also had a young, human man who looked like he’d ended up on the wrong side of a fight with a pack of gamorreans following two steps behind him.

Jango leapt to his feet as soon as the door to the suite slid open. He paused, staring when he saw the other boy, only a bit younger than him, behind Jaster. “ _Buir_?”

“Later, _Jan’ika_ ,” Jaster sighed. He needed a drink before he explained to Jango they had a baby Jedi who needed to be dropped off on Coruscant. When they got the poor kid home, Jaster planned on having some strong words with whoever was in charge of the Jedi’s trainees about appropriate training officers.

The leader of the group of beings Jaster and Jango had rescued from the slaver gratefully accepted the credit chits and a datapad with information on where to get half-decent ident papers without involving official channels. Duty done, Jaster collected his son and his headache and herded them back to the  _ Paladin _ to get the hell off the planet before something else went sideways.

“Jango, do what you can to clean up our new friend,” Jaster ordered as he headed for the cockpit to get away from whatever was in the atmo here. Over his shoulder he added, “He can use my spare clothes.”

“He needs them,”Jango said grumpily, despite the filters in his helmet handling most smells.

Jaster flicked a couple irritable handsigns at his son to remind him manners existed before giving up. The baby Jedi and Jango were about the same age. They’d sort themselves out one way or another.


	2. Chapter 2

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and did his best to remain calm and impassive as the shorter Mandalorian stared at him. He was fairly certain the taller Mandalorian had given some kind of orders, but they must have had commlinks in their helmets since Obi-Wan hadn’t heard either of them speak since the taller Mandalorian addressed the group of refugees in the back room of what looked like a restaurant.

The shorter mando gestured impatiently for Obi-Wan to follow them. Obi-Wan lifted his chin and tried to not limp as he was led through the ship into a decent sized fresher attached to a small medbay. He wasn’t able to keep himself from jumping when the shorter mando spoke through their vocoder, “Use water. Beat up as you are a sonic will just make everything worse.” Even with the distortion the voice sounded male and young, more like Obi-Wan’s own age than an adult. “I’ll get you some of  _ Jas’bu _ ’s clothes to wear while we get yours clean.” The shorter mando paused confidence suddenly disintegrating into something softer and more hesitant. “How badly are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan said automatically. He flinched at the loud, unimpressed sigh his response garnered.

“Let’s try this again. Get undressed and rinse off. I’m getting a scanner.” The shorter mando turned around and started digging through the cabinets in the medbay.

Obi-Wan considered protesting. He didn’t really want to be naked in front of a stranger. At the same time, he didn’t want to annoy either of the mandos further. Master Qui-Gon had been clear he was to keep his head down and do as he was told, within reason, until he came for Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan didn’t want to risk angering his master further, not when Master Qui-Gon was finally speaking to him again.

Moving slowly, Obi-Wan unbuckled his belt and started to pick apart the knot in his obi. The shorter mando turned around with a scanner in hand. “What…” his voice trailed off. “Oh,” he muttered, “right. I don’t really know anything about  _ jetiise _ . Do you have a cultural taboo about nudity?” He sounded vaguely embarrassed, like Obi-Wan when he was too tired to remember the answer to an exam question.

“No.” Something of the opposite actually. Bodies were simply more crude matter, and Jedi were concerned with the reality of luminous beings. Obi-Wan clenched his jaw and mechanically began to remove his outer tunics ignoring how the motions pulled at sore muscles.

The short mando must have read something of his anxiety in the gesture, because he removed his own armored gloves followed by his helmet. The mando was a human male, about Obi-wan’s age, with warm, brown eyes, black, curly hair cut short, and skin a few shades darker than Quinlan’s. When he smiled, it was almost shy. “Hey,  _ udesii _ ,  _ jet’ika _ . It’s okay. I don’t know what’s going on, but my  _ buir _ will help you figure it out.” He wrinkled his nose. “You really do need shower though and a couple liters of bacta gel it looks like.”

The mando radiated a surprisingly kind, if impatient, sort of concern into the Force as he waited on Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan peeled his grim-stiff inner tunic down his arms to set them on top of his obi when there was a flicker in the Force. When he looked over, the mando was blushing and looking at the floor. “I’ll get you some fresh clothes,” he told his feet before hurrying away.

It was easier to relax knowing that one of the armored warriors wasn’t much older than Obi-Wan himself. Obi-Wan didn’t recognize the strange language, but the teenage mando’s easy confidence made him think the older mando was his father. The fact the other boy was trying to comfort him made him wonder what was going on. He’d assumed he’d been traded as an indentured servant to a member of a group who was, historically, violently opposed to the Jedi Order.

Obi-Wan rushed to get the rest of his clothes off before the mando boy came back and practically threw himself into the shower. Hot water, a whole seven minutes of Force-blessed hot water, rained down on his head. There was a dispenser with general purpose hygienic cleanser on the wall. Obi-Wan filled his palm with the, thankfully, scentless soap and started scrubbing his hair.

It was so wonderful to be properly clean. His scrapes and cuts stung, but Obi-Wan didn’t care. He scrubbed every inch of skin as quickly as possible then did it again, getting all the way to his knees before the shower beeped a warning. Rinsing off in the last thirty seconds of wonderfully hot water, Obi-Wan tried not to look at the colorful, abstract artwork that was his chest and side extending down his left hip to mid-thigh.

The mando boy was waiting in the medbay. He tossed Obi-Wan a towel keeping his eyes politely averted as Obi-Wan gingerly patted himself dry. There was a dusky flush to his face from the humid heat of the shower the air vents hadn’t completely cycled out. Obi-Wan wrapped the thin towel around his hips in an attempt at modesty.

The other boy held up a scanner. “I’m going to go ahead and run a scan now to see if those bruises are just decorative. Okay with you?”

Obi-Wan nodded, grateful the hot water flush hid his blush, as the boy stepped up to him and began running the scanner just above his skin. The boy buzzed in the Force almost like a sensation of holding a lit lightsaber but with the lingering smell of ozone from blasterbolts. There was something reassuring about his presence. The scanner beeped, and the boy frowned out the readout. “Rough week?” he asked as he tapped on the attached screen.

“Rough year,” Obi-Wan admitted. The words came startlingly easily. Especially since the boy didn’t demand to know details or look at him with worry.

He just nodded sympathetically. “Right. I’ll get you some bacta gel for the external damage. I’ll get a couple of hyposprays of bacta too. You’ve got fractures in your ribs and your arm. We don’t have a bone-knitter so it's going to have to be local bacta shots.”

“If it makes it easier to breathe, I’ll take it,” Obi-Wan admitted relieved there was an end in sight for the throbbing every time he tried to draw in a breath.

The boy worked quickly and professionally with the hydrospray, injecting the bacta on either side of the worst fractures to stabilize the breaks. Then he left Obi-Wan alone with a comically large tube of bacta gel. From the number of tubes Obi-Wan had glimpsed in the cabinet, the boy and his father went through a fair bit of the stuff. Obi-Wan spread a thin layer of the medical gel over most of his body since he had plenty of it. Then he pulled on the clothes the boy had brought. There was a loose, sleeveless shirt, well-worn, with faded print in a language Obi-Wan didn’t recognize and a pair of long cargo shorts washed so many times they were soft to the touch with ragged holes in the bottom hems.

Dressed and feeling better despite the sickly, rotten stench of bacta hanging around him, Obi-Wan gathered his dirty clothes and crept out of the medbay. The boy was waiting for him. He smiled brightly when he saw Obi-Wan. “That’s better. Come on. We can put your clothes through the sonic cleaner.  _ Buir _ ’s plotting our course right now. Once we’re in hyperspace we can figure out how to get you home.”

Obi-Wan blinked. “You’re taking me home?” Immediately he regretted how young he’d sounded.

“Well, yeah, eventually. We have to drop off our merchandise first to claim the bounty, but then  _ Buir _ will take you home. Why did you think he wouldn’t?” The boy puzzlement was so natural and genuine it was impossible to believe it was some kind of manipulation.

“The other Mandalorian agreed to trade a labor contract, my labor contract, for some sil-plat chips.” Obi-Wan tried not let the bitter taste of the words linger. Master Qui-Gon hadn’t even hesitated to offer up first Obi-Wan’s lightsaber then Obi-Wan himself when his mindtricks had failed. Obi-Wan did understand. The freedom fighters they’d been sent to assess would die without those scramblers to ensure secure, untraceable comms. Master Qui-Gon had chosen to save hundreds of lives by putting Obi-Wan at relatively low risk, and he’d said he’d come for Obi-Wan when he finished the mission.

The boy looked absolutely baffled. “You’re a slave?”

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw. “Indentured servant.”

“Same difference,” the boy waved away the minor difference in vocabulary. “We’re  _ Haat Mando’ade _ . We don’t keep slaves. It’s against our creed.”

“What’s a  _ Haat Mando’ade _ ?” Obi-Wan asked, trying hard to keep his voice from shaking. Maybe they would let him go after he performed a few useful tasks since they didn’t keep slaves.

The boy puffed up just a little, chin tilted proudly. “True Mandalorians. My  _ buir _ is the  _ Mand’alor _ , the leader of our people. He wrote the Super-Commando Codex, the code of honor we all follow after we swear  _ Resol’nare _ . It’s in the Codex we can’t keep slaves or force prisoners to do any labor not in their own interest. That includes ‘indentured servants’ and ‘sentient merchandise’.”

“Then why did he let my master trade me for the chips?” Obi-Wan demanded, voice slightly shrill.

The tone made the boy deflate. “I don’t know,  _ jet’ika _ . But I’m sure he has a good reason. He’ll tell you as soon as we’re safe.” He reached out and set a careful hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, avoiding the worst bruises. “There’s uj cake in the galley and blue milk. We can have some while your clothes are cleaned.”

Cake sounded promising and blue milk was always good when Obi-Wan was hungry. “If you have enough to share, I would enjoy trying it,” Obi-Wan said politely.

“We have too much according to  _ Buir _ . He loves it, but he says he got old and now it makes him fat.” The boy moved his hand to the small of Obi-Wan’s back, guiding Obi-Wan companionably through the ship. “So, in a way, we’re doing him a favor.”

Uj cake turned out to be more of a dense, sweet bread filled with dried fruit and nuts and soaked in spicy-sweet syrup. Obi-Wan ate two pieces with half a carafe of blue milk before the bubbling ache in his stomach quieted. The boy seemed pleased by his appetite and dug around in the chiller for containers of pickled vegetables and meat in a dangerous looking red oil which was served with flatbread. The pickles burned like lava and were absolutely delicious to Obi-Wan, who’d been eating ration bars and nutrient paste for the last few months.

The older mando appeared while Obi-Wan was working his way through the small pickle and flatbread sandwich the boy had made him with sips of blue milk between bites to help with the burning. “Well, you look less like death,” the man observed. He’d taken off his helmet and gauntlets just like the boy. With his helmet off it was harder to believe they were father and son. The man was hatchet-faced with a broken nose that had healed crooked. He was also almost as pale as Obi-Wan with brown hair, instead of the boy’s black, going gray at the temples. Though he and the boy both had the same dark brown eyes.

Obi-Wan put his sandwich to the side and pressed his hands in front of his chest, bowing as much as he dared with his ribs from a sitting position. “I thank you for your kind hospitality.”

The man snorted. “You don’t owe us any thanks for basic decency,  _ jet’ika _ . That teacher of yours… Well, I’m glad to see you and Jango are getting along.” He sat down at the table next to the boy, to Jango, and started putting together his own sandwich from the pickles. “My name is Jaster Mereel,” he explained as he added a smear of soft cheese to his bread before stacking the spicy pickles on it. “Jango is my son. We’re  _ beroya _ , bounty hunters. We’ve currently got a delivery in cold storage. Our plan is to make a quick stop at Nar Shaddaa to drop it off then turn around and head to… Are you Corellia, Coruscant, or Dantooine?” 

“Coruscant,” Obi-Wan answered. His heart was in his throat. Were these Mandalorians really just going to take him home?

Jaster made a face. “I hate that hellhole, but we’ll drop you off at the temple on Coruscant before heading back to Mandalore.” He didn’t even suggest a Service Corp outpost or a different temple Obi-Wan could make his own way home from. “It might be as much as two weeks.” He sounded apologetic like he wasn’t offering Obi-Wan a free ride to Coruscant.

Obi-Wan took a sip of blue milk to loosen the lump in his throat. His eyes were burning, but he could blame that on the pickles. “Two weeks is more than acceptable, Master Mereel. Thank you very much for your kindness.”

Wrinkling his nose, Jaster shook his head. “Don’t sweat it, kid. Also, just call me Jaster. I’ve got enough fancy titles waiting to bother me at home.”

“Thank you, Jaster,” Obi-Wan repeated and was rewarded with a warm smile from Jaster.

“Am I right in thinking that tall bastard traded your lightsaber, not his?” Jaster asked, biting into his sandwich.

Obi-Wan winced. “Yes.” That blade was his life, and he’d given it to his master then watched it be passed to a stranger. Just another bargaining chip.

“Can you use a red-bladed saber? I have one from a particularly nasty bounty contract I took when I was younger. I mostly use it for rough-cutting durasteel. It’s handy, but if you can use it then it’s better off with you.” Jaster was painfully nonchalant about the fact he had a darksider’s weapon as a trophy. A trophy he used as just another tool like a hydrospanner.

“I’d have to purify and heal the crystals,” Obi-Wan fumbled out trying to conceal his shock. “I’ve never done it before, only read about it. It takes a lot of fine control and meditation.”

Jaster looked pleased. “A project. That’ll be good to keep you busy while you heal up. Once you’re feeling better, you can join Jango and I while we train. Also, I’ve downloaded all the Republic standard education modules for Jango. I expect you to use them as well, at least three hours a day, six days a week when we’re shipbound. I’d also ask that you help Jango with his chores. Don’t strain yourself, but we would appreciate the extra help. There’s only one fresher. Since you got cleaned up, I presume Jango showed you already. Otherwise, Jango cooks firstmeal and I make latemeal. If you want midmeal or snacks feel free to scrounge in the galley. Anything I’m missing,  _ Jan’ika _ ?” He looked over as he addressed the question to his son.

Jango looked up from his own sandwich, swallowing before answering. “Is he going to sleep with us,  _ buir _ ?”

“Right.” Jaster smiled wryly. “ _ Vor’e, ad’ika _ . Mandalorians traditionally have communal sleeping arrangements,  _ jet’ika _ . We use the bunkroom for storage and set out our bedrolls in the living area. But if you’d prefer we can unearth one of the bunks for you. Otherwise, if you don’t mind the fact I snore like a belt-fed heavy cannon, we’ve got a spare bedroll you can use.”

“My master snores too. It’s no bother. I can sleep out here.” Jango must have learned his weirdly soothing Force presence from Jaster. Obi-Wan’s nerves were slowly unwinding as Jaster laid out the schedule for the next two weeks like a creche-master. There was still room for Obi-Wan to build his own routine, but he had structure now. Three hours of educational modules and a pre-set bedtime with everyone else. “Um, I’ll need a quiet, out of the way place to meditate while I try to heal the crystals?”

Jaster looked to Jango again. Jango considered Obi-Wan. His gaze was uncomfortably intense for all there was no malice to it. “There’s a place in the engine room. Plenty of room to sit or stand but not enough to store anything. It’s out of the way.”

“That’d be ideal,” Obi-Wan replied gratefully.

“How much time do you usually spend meditating in a day?” Jaster asked.

It wasn’t a question Obi-Wan expected. He answered honestly out of reflex, “Not enough. When I was in the creche the masters said you should meditate for at least two hours a day but six or seven was really ideal. Especially if you’re tired, sick, or injured.”

Jaster looked startled by the answer but shook it off. “Do me a favor and try to meditate in no more than four hour blocks. I don’t know anything about your training, but if it’s anything like regular training then the longer you do it the more it strains you. I don’t know how to help if you overwork your brain. So I’d prefer to play it safe until we get you back to your people.”

“I can do that,” Obi-Wan hastily reassured him. It was the first time someone had suggested he should meditate less instead of more.

“Okay. That’s everything I think. If you have any questions feel free to ask me or Jango. What would you like us to call you?” Jaster slipped the request for Obi-Wan’s name in at the end so smoothly, Obi-Wan didn’t realize he hadn’t introduced himself until Jaster brought it up.

Obi-Wan considered giving a fake name, but what was the point? Jaster was taking him back to Coruscant where everyone knew his name. “Obi-Wan. My name is Obi-Wan Kenboi.”

Jaster nodded. “It’s good to meet you,  _ Ob’ika _ .”

What Obi-Wan had assumed was going to be an extremely unpleasant, indefinite period of time settled instead into a quiet, easy routine. Even with their education modules, training, chores, and Obi-Wan’s meditation, both Obi-Wan and Jango had spare time. To fill it, Jango showed Obi-Wan Jaster’s massive library of holobooks ranging from trashy thrillers to thick, academic tomes on economics and philosophy in multiple languages. There was also  _ cubikahd _ , which was a Mandalorian strategy game, and dejarik, which they played Obi-Wan and Jango versus Jaster most of the time and Jaster still won.

When Jaster found out about Obi-Wan’s abysmal astronavigation scores on his module placement quiz, he insisted on tutoring Obi-Wan himself. Jaster was a surprisingly good and patient teacher. He never seemed bothered that it took Obi-Wan twice as long as it should to do his calculations correctly, just insisted Obi-Wan practice again and again. Three days in, Obi-Wan could repeat, “You’ll get there when you get there. Speed comes with practice.” like any other temple training mantra.

The other thing Obi-Wan did to fill the time was talk to Jango. It turned out that Mandalorians were raised communally like Jedi. Jango was eager to hear about Bant, Quin, Garen, and Siri since he didn’t spend much time with the other Mandalorians his age. As Jaster’s son, it was assumed Jango would be part of the government when he was older even if he didn’t take on the role of  _ Mand’alor _ himself. It made it hard to make friends his own age. Jango and Obi-Wan exchanged ideas for pranks they’d pulled on older members of their social groups, and Jango insisted on teaching Obi-Wan the basics of  _ Mando’a _ , the Mandalorians native language.

Life had a rhythm not unlike the one Obi-Wan knew from the temple. It was jarring when the patterns were broken. Jaster woke both boys in the middle of the ship’s sleep cycle with a warning they were four hours out from Nar Shaddaa. He also had a spare, smaller set of beskar’gam, the proper term for Mandalorian armor Obi-Wan had learned, painted black and edged in gold.

“You’re skinnier than Jango was, but it should fit well enough,” Jaster said helping Obi-Wan strap the plates in place. “Keep your helmet on and stay close to Jango. I’ve got a single, heavy blaster for you since you’ve only had basic blaster training.” He adjusted the black leather gunbelt on Obi-Wan’s hips to make sure the holster was sitting properly. “If there is a fight, then you can use this.” Jaster picked up an actual, metal sword about the length of a shoto blade with a slight curve. “This is a beskad. It’s a traditional weapon but effective. It’s supposed to be carried high on the hip and drawn across the body. Is that comfortable for you?”

Obi-Wan secured the blade in place on his hip opposite his borrowed blaster. “It’s not that much different than a weighted training saber,” he confirmed.

Jaster ruffled his hair. Obi-Wan had gotten used to the gesture which Jaster dispensed liberally upon both boys. The flash of fondness in the Force that always accompanied it warmed Obi-Wan from the inside. “Now you look like a proper mando,  _ Ob’ika _ . Doesn’t he,  _ Jan’ika _ ?”

Jango was looking determinedly down at his own kit as Jaster teased him. The dusky flush was back, high on his cheeks as he checked his own gunbelt. “The armor looks like it fits him fine. It’s sure as hell more protection than those tunics.” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what Jango had against Jedi tunics, but he’d repeatedly professed a dislike of how flimsy and impractical they were. It was a strong feeling. Obi-Wan had spent most of his time wearing clothes borrowed from Jango rather than dealing with it.

Obi-Wan locked the helmet into place, setting the gasket as Jaster had shown him. Jaster was very clear that he took no risks when it came to dealing with hutts. They would all stay together, be armed, and have their armor fully sealed until they came back to the  _ Paladin _ with their payment.

Jango’s armor was mostly unpainted, displaying dull silver metal over a dusty blue flightsuit, which Jango called  _ kute _ . The only paint he bothered with was the thick blue band around his t-shaped visor, a dark red pinstripe that ran along the bottom of the blue, and the black and red animal skull on his pauldron. Jaster’s armor was also mostly unpainted with the exception of the red around his visor, the same skull on his pauldron, and a yellow diamond in the center of his chestplate. “It’s because we’re wearing  _ beskar _ ,” Jango explained as Jaster checked his jetpack. “The plate you're wearing is durasteel. It’s good stuff, but it’s not  _ beskar _ .” He said the word like it was holy.

Jaster, somehow reading Obi-Wan’s confusion through layers of armor and a full-face helmet, elaborated. “ _ Beskar _ is Mandalorian steel. It’s impervious to blaster bolts, can’t be cut even by a lightsaber, and carries part of our soul,  _ manda _ , in it. Not unlike that crystal you’ve been meditating with I think.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan couldn’t help but stare a little because the idea of openly wearing a kyber crystal was almost sacrilegious, but Jango and Jaster did the equivalent fearlessly and proudly.

“I think I’ve got some half-decent books from an old, Alderaanian sociologist who studied a few displaced Mandalorian clans after the  _ Dral’han _ if you’re curious,” Jaster offered slapping Jango’s pauldron before turning so Jango could check his jetpack.

“Yes, please,” Obi-Wan said eagerly because Jaster had some of the strangest, most interesting academic texts he’d ever heard of. Especially ones involving Mandalorian culture. Jaster said that the Old Republic had purged a lot of documentation at the same time it had ordered the destruction of Mandalore and its colonies. He’d even mentioned, so casually that Obi-Wan hadn’t understood until later, that he’d bring some of the ancient Jedi holocrons he’d found from the period next time he and Jango visited Obi-Wan to see if Obi-Wan could make them work.

“Why are you both such scholars?” Jango groaned theatrically like he didn’t have his own meticulously curated collection of Mandalorian myths, legends, and children’s stories.

Jaster chuckled when Jango slapped his pauldron to confirm his kit was secure. “We can’t all read sixty variations of the same pre-Destruction children’s myth for fun,  _ Jan’ika _ .”

Jango said something in  _ Mando’a _ too quickly for Obi-Wan to pick it apart but it sounded embarrassed. Jaster laughed. “I’m sure,  _ ad’ika _ . Now, come on, boys. Let’s go get paid.”

The box they were delivering was a stasis hovercrate. Obi-Wan had no desire to know what was in it, but it had the scum that populated most of Nar Shaddaa giving them a wide berth. Jaster strode down the street as if he owned the planet, completely confident in his ability to protect his payday. Jango prowled near the rear, a warning to anyone who thought they might be able to jump Jaster from behind. Obi-Wan walked slightly behind Jaster with the crate controls in hand since he was currently the least useful in a firefight.

Obi-Wan felt the grimy, oppressive atmosphere like it was pressing down on his skin. He was grateful for the small chiller and filter units installed in his armor that meant that he didn’t have to endure the stench, heat, and humidity physically. The psychic stink of misery hung over everything like a miasma.

They took the crate to some kind of public official’s office. Though Obi-Wan had never heard of a public official openly paying a bounty hunter for what was obviously a corpse. The official, a spice-blind ithorian, was almost mincingly polite to Jaster throughout the whole exchange. The job came with a hard cash bonus for speedy delivery which Jaster accepted with a polite nod and seemingly no other reaction, but Obi-Wan could feel the small spike of pleasure in the Force.

After they left the office and the hovercrate, Jaster chuckled and rapped his knuckles on top of both boy’s helmets. “Come on. Let’s get some real food while we’re here since we’ve got the cash for it.”

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what’d they’d been eating on the ship that made it not ‘real food’. Though Jango perked up and asked, “ _ Skraan’ikase _ ?”

“‘ _ Lek _ ,” Jaster replied, turning down a side street. Further down the road, he ducked down to go through a door with a low sill. Jango and Obi-Wan followed. Inside the large, open room was noticeably cooler and drier than outside even with the armor. There was a scattering of other Mandalorians in various states of armored from simple vambraces and boots to full beskar’gam like Jango, Jaster, and Obi-Wan. 

A zabrak woman wearing vambraces over her sturdy, practical dress approached them with a bright smile. “ _ Su’cuy _ ,  _ jatne vode _ ! How can I help you.”

“Private room for me and my boys,” Jaster said, handing over some peggats from the cash reward to her. “And a dozen courses of _skraan’ikase_ to go with our _ne’tra_ _gal_.”

“Of course!” she said more genuinely now that she had the generous stack of peggats in hand. “Are you creed-bound? If so, I can arrange to have one of our droids serve you.”

“We’re not. A regular server will be fine,  _ vod _ .” Jaster put hand on Obi-Wan’s and Jango’s shoulder guiding them after the zabrak to the back of the room then down a hallway lined with doors with lights over them.

She stopped in front of a door with a green light over it and tapped the control pad to change the light to red. “Go ahead and get settled in. I’ll have Ru’ika bring you water and some beers.”

“Make two of them  _ gal’ika _ ,  _ vod _ .  _ Vor’e _ .” Jaster gently pushed Jango and Obi-Wan into a comfortable looking room with a low table surrounded by cushions. There were embroidered hangings on the wall displaying (artistic?) representations of hunting and cooking scenes between lines of  _ Mando’a _ characters.

Jango pulled off his helmet followed by his gauntlets in a series of movements Obi-Wan was becoming familiar with, an indication his mandos were making themselves comfortable. They both moved through the ritual the same way. Jaster helped Obi-Wan pop the seal on his helmet before removing his own. They lined up their helmets and gauntlets in a neat row at the end of the table. Jango tugged Obi-Wan down so they were sharing a cushion, pressing against each other’s sides. It was similar to the way they would read together, squashed close in the slightly too small chair with their own datapads. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if all Mandalorians were as gregarious as Jango, but he’d gotten used to the other boy being in his space.

Jaster claimed two cushions for himself so he could stretch out his bad leg. The brace he wore on his left leg, which had been crushed in a fighter crash, was mostly concealed by his armor. It still pained him when he tried to leave the knee bent. Obi-Wan was a little annoyed with himself; he hadn’t taken any of the Force healing classes that might have let him help.

“You’re going love this,  _ Ob’ika _ ,” Jango promised as the first round of tiny plates arrived along with a pitcher of clean water with ice and three, frosted mugs. Two of the beers were a light tan color while the other was thick and black. Jaster took the mug of black beer for himself. “There’s bantha milk in the beer to cut it,” Jango explained as he pulled one of the small plates over in front of him and Obi-Wan. It was some kind of roasted meat and vegetables on skewers covered in an orange sauce that smelled sharp enough to make Obi-Wan’s eyes sting.

Obi-Wan was getting used to the ridiculous spice level Mandalorians enjoyed in their food. Though milk and beer sounded like a strange combination, the mixture was thick, creamy, a little sweet, and rich. The combination helped cut through the heat and made it manageable. Which was good because Jango was practically shoving little bites of food into Obi-Wan’s mouth in his eagerness to show the younger boy all of his favorites.

Jaster worked steadily through his own plates with quiet amusement at the interplay between the boys across from him. Obi-Wan smeared some of the red oil pickles he was becoming inordinately fond of across Jango’s lips in retaliation before getting it into Jango’s mouth. A moment later, as Obi-Wan had learned, the hot oil started to burn Jango’s skin making him reach for his drink.

“Eat your food, don’t play with,” Jaster reminded them mildly as he peeled a crust off a steaming piece of fish before setting it in the middle of the table for them to pick at.

“‘ _ Lek, Buir. _ ”

“ _ ‘Lek, Jaster. _ ”

Obi-Wan and Jango chimed together playing innocent. Jaster sighed deeply. “What did I do to the stars?” he asked philosophically. Then he smirked and, lightning quick, shoved a piece of steamed fish into Jango’s mouth which was open to sally back a sarcastic reply. Jango glared and chewed. Jaster winked at Obi-Wan.

Dessert was half a melon diced and mixed with frozen cream and served in the rind. Jaster gave his to Jango and Obi-Wan to split. He watched them inhale it mournfully while sipping a caf with flakes of red spices floating in it.

“Okay, that was amazing,” Obi-Wan admitted to Jango washing his hands in one of the warm dishes of water set among the plates of food and wiping them off on the cloth next to it.

“ _ Skraan’ikase _ is the best,” Jango said, dedicated to scraping the last of the mellon out of the rind.

Jaster reminded both boys to thoroughly clean their hands and mouths before putting their armor back on because hot oil and long periods in metal and heavy leatheris didn’t mix. Jango rolled his eyes but obeyed. Obi-Wan was grateful for the tip.

Fully armored, they headed back into the restaurant. Obi-Wan paused as the Force rippled in warning. There was a group of people in blue armor sitting around a table in the center of the room. Jaster swore softly, handsigning something swiftly to Jango. Jango grabbed Obi-Wan’s arm and tugged him back until they were both hidden behind Jaster’s broad shoulders.

Jaster’s entire Force presence had shifted. Shipboard he was warm, quiet, and solid. While turning in the bounty, he’d been cool and calm. Now Obi-Wan could taste blood and metal on the back of his tongue, sparking like electricity. Jango was no better feeling so strongly of blaster discharge it was almost a smell.

They made their way across the room in a tight cluster. Jaster moved confidently but not too quickly. About halfway to the door, a woman about Jaster’s age, beautiful but with the ragged edges of hard living looked up. There was a stab of pure hatred. Then she smiled unpleasantly. “ _ Alor _ , what a surprise to see you here grubbing in the muck with the rest of us.”

Jaster didn’t visibly react. He did turn and make his way over the woman and her friends. There was a boy and girl, teenagers, sitting next to her with their helmets. The resemblance between the boy and the woman suggested they were related. Though Obi-Wan had quickly learned the idea of ‘family’ to a Mandalorian was both simpler and more complex than anything he’d seen in the Core.

“Last time I saw you, you only had one of those,” the woman noted eyeing Obi-Wan. Besides the boy and the girl, there were four men about the woman’s age or a bit younger at the table. They all had the same, jagged, abstract mark on their pauldron.

“I could say the same of you.” Jaster studied the girl. “Reau’s get?”

The woman smiled again though it was bitter with pain. “She ended up on the wrong side of a firefight with some pirates. Isabet’s staying with me until she and Dred are old enough for  _ riduurok _ .”

Jaster sighed heavily. “I am sorry to hear that, Priest. Reau was a damn fine commando even if she was wrong-headed about things.”

The admission made the woman relax a little even as some of the men were obviously angered by the words. “What about yours? They look a bit scrawny. Mereel forgetting to feed you,  _ ad’ika _ ?”

“No. I won him in a game sabacc about a week ago,” Jaster admitted without shame. “I’m taking him home soon.”

“Always the honorable mercenary, Jaster Mereel,” Priest said, not bothering to conceal her scorn. “They call you  _ Mand’alor _ , but your people are dying out here on the edge galaxy.”

“You want to come home, Priest, you know what you have to do.” Jaster didn’t react to her jab, perfectly calm in the face of her needling. “I’d be glad to have you.”

The woman sneered. “Come home to what? You took my clan’s property and gave it to Clan kriffing Bralor.”

Jaster shrugged. “Price of losing, Priest. You have your life and your children. It’s enough to start over.”

“Shove it up your ass,  _ Jas’ika _ .” Priest settled back in her chair. She added something in  _ Mando’a _ that made Jango snarl before Jaster held up a hand to stop him.

“Regardless, I’ll still send a gift for the wedding.  _ K’oyacyi _ , Priest.” Jaster started to turn away.

The Force screamed. Obi-Wan pulled his blade and brought it down, severing the hand of one of the men, blaster still clenched in the fingers. It’d all happened so quickly, he didn’t even realize what he’d done until the man started screaming. Jaster and Jango had both pulled their blasters, pointing them at the others at the table.

Priest and her people had their blasters out as well. “Do you want to do this right now, Priest?” Jaster asked coldly. His blaster was pointed at the boy’s head. “Because I know it ends with at least one of us wishing we were dead.”

Looking at the blaster trained on her son, Priest slowly holstered her own blaster. “Fine.  _ Di’kut _ tried to pull on your back. Your boy there stopped him. Straightforward enough.” She paused looking at Obi-Wan with uncomfortable interest. “Strange choice of weapon,  _ ad’ika _ . You’re quick with it. That’s unusual.”

“Priest,” Jaster said coolly, “are we done?”

She waved a hand. “We’re done, Mereel. I hope you eat a blasterbolt.”

Jaster holstered his own blasters and didn’t respond. He put his back to Priest and her people with his body between them and Obi-Wan and Jango, herding the boys out of the restaurant. They paused outside just long enough for Obi-Wan to wipe off his blade before resheathing it. He suspected the sword was made of  _ beskar _ , because it had gone right through the durasteel armor of the man with the blaster.

Jango held on to Obi-Wan’s arm as they headed back to the  _ Paladin _ . Jaster radiated danger so clearly no being had to be Force sensitive to stay out of their way. “Sweep the ship,  _ Jan’ika _ ,” Jaster ordered once they reached the  _ Paladin _ . “ _ Ob’ika _ , you’re on guard duty. Let me know over the helmet comm if anyone followed us.” Then he headed into the ship to sweep the inside.

Obi-Wan did use the helmet’s internal comm, but he opened up a channel to Jango. “Jango,” he said keeping his voice low despite knowing the helmet muffled anything quieter than a shout, “who were those people?”

“ _ Kyr’tsad _ , the Death Watch,” Jango said tightly as he used his armor’s scanning package to check the outside of the ship. “They killed my clan and tortured my sister.” Obi-Wan’s shocked silence had Jango chuckling bitterly. “My name isn’t Mereel,  _ Ob’ika _ . It’s Jango Fett. It’s just me and Arla left of our part of the family. Jaster adopted us. After Tor Vizsla died, the  _ Kyr’tsad _ mostly fell apart.  _ Buir _ was able to root them out of their stronghold and take the darksaber from Vizsla’s heir and sworn commandos. That’s how he became  _ Mand’alor _ . But there’s still some commandos who are loyal to Vizsla wandering around. They’re exiled from the Mandalore Sector unless they swear to the Super-Commando Codex and my  _ buir _ .”

Obi-Wan didn’t know what to say so he didn’t say anything. Jango had all the Force sensitivity of a particularly average rock, but Obi-Wan tried to wrap him in calm and comfort anyways. It did seem to help a little. Once the ship scanned clean, Jango and Obi-Wan boarded. Jaster had them stay in armor until they were hyperspace in case there was a time-delayed device they’d missed. From his tone, Obi-Wan gathered the Death Watch had used similar tricks in the past.

Once they were safely in hyperspace, Jaster came out of the cockpit. He didn’t say anything, just took Obi-Wan’s helmet off and cradled his face between his palms, examining him. Obi-Wan braced himself but then Jaster was hugging him fiercely. “Are you okay,  _ Ob’ika _ ?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said honestly. The amount of blood had been startling. Lightsabers cauterized wounds, but it wasn’t the first time he’d been forced to dismember another being.

Jaster pressed his face to the top of Obi-Wan's head for a long moment. He lifted the arm not around Obi-Wan and held it up. Jango slammed into them, holding on to both of them too hard. “You both did very well,” Jaster said with tired pride. “ _ Jatne ad’ike _ .” Obi-Wan turned to Jango who was bleeding pain into Force, pressing his face to the other boy’s jaw. Jaster rested his cheek on top of Jango’s head just holding them with pride, relief, and well-hidden pain.

Obi-Wan was shocked to find out how hard it was to clean blood off of  _ beskar’gam _ . He scrubbed next to Jango and silently promised the Force he’d finish working on purifying the kyber crystal Jaster had given him. It was boring, frustrating, and deeply sickening to clean up the aftermath of using a  _ beskad _ .

Sleep didn’t come easily to Obi-Wan when the time came to pull out the bedrolls. It didn’t help that Jango couldn’t settle, restless physically and in the Force. Jaster abandoned his own pile of blankets to sit next to Jango and put a hand on his back. He hummed softly, the shape of a tune but not words, as Obi-Wan drifted off. The Force finally calmed as Jango let himself be comforted by his father.

Obi-Wan heard blasterfire off in the distance. He looked over and Jango was at his shoulder, standing with the other Young and surveying the carnage. Cersai’s body was already on the ground along with a dozen others who’d been killed early in the day by a targeted bombing strike. Their enemy wore blue Mandalorian armor. Some of them, no older than the youngest of the Young, missing plates to compensate for their too large gear. Obi-Wan hitched his blaster belt up and began barking orders to remove the bodies of the Young.

The corpses would be hidden so the Melida and the Daan wouldn’t know how effective their counter-attack had been. Part of the Youngs’ survival strategy was making sure to conceal their numbers. In the last intelligence report from the Daan they’d managed to obtain, the Daan had estimated the Young had three times the combat age troops they actually had and hadn’t thought about the fact a certain number had to be held back to take care of the littlest ones.

Obi-Wan jumped down into one of the debris filled craters trying to see if any of the supplies were recoverable. He knew better. He knew what happened next. The Melida ambushed them while they were trying to salvage any remaining crates. Obi-Wan’s ankle still ached when he ran on it too long. A souvenir from the ricocheted slug that Cersai had dug out of it. He grabbed Jango and tried to drag the other boy to the woods.

This time, he wasn’t able to get away to the underbrush where he’d hidden until the Melida patrol had given up. A rifle butt hit him in the face. Obi-Wan kicked out trying to get free. Hands grabbed his arm, big, fingers bruising tight, as he was heaved to the side. He landed hard on his back with the air rushing out of his lungs. The adults were talking, not yelling strangely, but Obi-Wan curled away from the noise, trying to make himself small and inconspicuous.

Then one of the Young grabbed his shoulder. “ _ Osik _ . Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, it’s okay.  _ Gar morut’yc _ .  _ Ni ceta _ . I’m sorry!”

Obi-Wan’s cheek throbbed. Jango, wide-eyed, was crouched over him. Jaster was on his feet standing well back from both boys. Obi-Wan blinked. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Jango snapped, still holding onto him. “I was dreaming about… about my family. But you were there.” He leaned down pressing their foreheads together.

Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around the other boy to soothe him. Jaster cautiously made his way over to them. “Hey. You both okay?” he asked, kneeling down slowly next to them with his hands held out away from his body. When Jango’s hand darted out to grab the hem of his shirt, he put one hand on his son’s back to rub slow circles.

“Why does my face hurt?” Obi-Wan asked.

“That would be because  _ Jan’ika _ punched you in the face when you grabbed him. Then you kicked him in the stomach,” Jaster said wryly. “After you both started yelling your heads off at the exact same moment and scared a decade off my life.”

Jango blushed bright red. “Sorry,” he said wretchedly, “I thought you were  _ Kyr’tsad _ .”

“‘Sokay. I thought you were Melida.” Obi-Wan flexed the fingers of the arm which hurt even outside the dream.

Jaster slowly reached over. When Obi-Wan didn’t move away, he carefully probed his wrist. “And that would be where I grabbed you both and hauled you apart before you could start brawling in your sleep. If this is going to become a regular thing, I’m going to make you two sleep in different rooms.” His tone was good-humored despite the concern in his eyes.

Jango was chewing at his bottom lip. “ _ Ob’ika _ , there were other kids there?”

“I think I might have accidentally projected my dream,” Obi-Wan said apologetically. “It happens sometimes. I didn’t know people who weren’t Force sensitive could pick up on it.”

“But, who were they?” Jango asked, starting to get irritated. “It was wrong. It was all wrong. The other men, they were adults.”

“ _ Jan’ika _ ,” Jaster interrupted. “Go make some shig.” When Jango started to protest, Jaster spoke with an air of command Obi-Wan had heard maybe twice since he’d come aboard the  _ Paladin _ . “Go, Jango. Walk it off.”

Jaster kept his hand lightly on Obi-Wan’s arm, waiting until Jango had stalked off to the galley before speaking again. “ _ Ob’ika _ , Jango has seen a lot of battlefields. It’s not often they disturb him like that. I was under the impression Jedi didn’t spend much time in combat. Could you tell me what he’s talking about?”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to redirect. That’s what he did when Melida/Daan came up. No one in the temple had forgotten what he’d done, and he never felt any burning desire to advertise his shame. Jaster was waiting patiently though, free of judgement in expression and the Force. If Obi-Wan dodged then Jango would be unbearable. The other boy had spent all day pestering him when Obi-Wan couldn’t figure out how to describe what the Force felt like. Jaster wouldn’t care either way. He had patience to rival a Jedi Master’s. He was also a soldier, an unapologetic warrior who’d won his people’s peace at the end of a blaster rifle.

“It was on a planet called Melida/Daan,” Obi-Wan said quietly. He talked like he hadn’t dared to any of his peers or masters. About Cersai and Nield and others that died long before them. Jango came back with mugs of shig. He didn’t say anything just wrapped himself around Obi-Wan’s back while Obi-Wan faced Jaster and spoke, commander to commander, about his soldiers. Jaster stayed crouched in front of Obi-Wan though his knee had to be killing him. He didn’t say anything, just listened. His dark eyes were intent but calm. If Obi-Wan had to backtrack to explain something, he didn’t order Obi-Wan to stop and organize himself better. When Obi-Wan skipped over something he didn’t want to speak of, Jaster didn’t demand details.

“Look at me,” Jaster said when Obi-Wan was finished. By then Obi-Wan was staring down at his hands unable to maintain eye contact under the crushing weight of his failures. Reluctantly, Obi-Wan looked up. Jaster was still calm but a little a sad. There was nothing else to him, no sharp, acrid judgement, no disappointment. “You did well.” Obi-Wan opened his mouth to protest. Jaster cut him off. “I didn’t say you did perfectly. It was an impossible situation, and you did what you thought was right. And you did that thing as best you could. Considering your age and your experience up to then, you did very well.” He sighed hard through his nose. “I won’t tell you not to feel guilty. I’ve lost commandos, and I know that’s a tall order. But don’t let the guilt consume you. There were a lot of people failing the Young, Obi-Wan. You were not one of them. Nor did you fail the Jedi, despite what some of them may think. There’s nothing morally superior about leaving children to die alone.”

Obi-Wan stared at Jaster, desperately wanting to argue the point. Jaster reached out and bopped him lightly on the nose with one finger. “I know. Violence leads only to more violence, and all that Core World nonsense. We can talk about it more if you want, but not right now.”

Jango’s arms and legs, now fully twined around Obi-Wan, squeezed. “Good. I hate it when you make me do philosophy essays,  _ Buir _ .” Jango lifted his cheek off Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Can we read something?”

Actually, some of Jango’s Mandalorian children’s stories would be a welcome relief from the half-hearted desire to explain to Jaster why he was wrong. “What about the star story?” Obi-Wan asked. He liked the old, almost Jedi tale of a young commando who stole the heart of a star to ransom her siblings back from a Sith.

“I think I can manage that.” Jaster dug out his datapad and loaded up the story. Obi-Wan tried to pull away from Jango but didn’t struggle too much when the older boy flopped down on top of him. He still had an arm free to drink his shig.

The next morning Jaster asked Obi-Wan if he’d be willing to put off going back to Coruscant for another two weeks. Jango was eager to get home and check on his sister. Feeling a little guilty at the relief he felt at a legitimate chance to avoid explaining his master’s latest antics to the Council, Obi-Wan agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

Jaster grimaced when he saw where Suz had set up the cams. The mythosaur skull throne in the main hall of the Keldabe Palace had been pulled out of the back room of a museum in Sundari. It was very much historic as it dated back to the time of Tarre Vizsla, but Jaster didn’t enjoy the melodrama of sitting in it despite the history. Still, he was already in full armor and wearing the crimson cloak he’d favor during war rather than the dull brown one he used while on a contract. He might as well embrace the Republic’s preconceptions about Mandalorians.

“That’s… Very impressive,” Obi-Wan said trying to remain polite despite the eyebrow hiking its way up his forehead.

“It’s mostly to scare  _ jetiise _ ,” Jango, who’d eschewed armor in favor of plain tunics, teased his friend.

Obi-Wan snorted. “It looks like a prop in some terrible holodrama about the Old Republic,  _ Jan’ika _ . I don’t think it could scare younglings.”

Jaster sighed, because teenagers. “It’s an important historic artifact. At least pretend it has cultural significance,  _ ad’ike _ .” Both boys exchanged skeptical looks but followed Jaster up the stairs to the throne. There were two padded stools on either side of the throne so the boys could sit comfortably. Jango slouched a little on his without his cuirass to remind him to keep his back straight. Obi-Wan sat back straight, hands neatly on his lap. A habit that unfortunately did not seem to be rubbing off on Jango.

Of course, Jaster definitely wasn’t helping Jango’s bad posture by throwing himself back into the seat of the throne so he was closer sprawling than sitting. But he had a point to make that sitting attentively like he did during meetings wouldn’t convey.

Suz signaled Jaster, counting down on their fingers before pointing. The screen across from Jaster lit up showing a bright, windowed room and an arc of four beings of various species in brown robes. Jaster knew exactly what they were seeing. Their old enemy dressed in red on a skull throne with a dangerous looking, young warrior, blaster visible on his belt, at his right hand and their lost pup, wearing his Jedi over tunic on top of a spare set of Jango’s clothes, on Jaster’s left.

Jaster waited for the Jedi to make the first move. The four Jedi all bowed. “Greetings, Mand’alor,” a dark-skinned human spoke up first. “The Jedi thank you for locating our wayward padawan.”

“Not wayward,” Jaster said sharply. “I take it the tall bastard didn’t tell you how Obi-Wan came into my care?”

“Told us, Master Jinn did, that young Obi-Wan volunteered. Exchange work he would to obtain supplies necessary to complete their mission from one of your warriors,” a wizened, green creature said in a tone that was meant to suggest he was a kindly old being nearing senility.

Jaster wasn’t convinced. “Jinn, is that the sleemo’s name? Because he lost Obi-Wan to me in a game of sabacc. Then, after I gave him back his child and his ship as a courtesy, he tried to mindfuck the owner of the tapcafe we were in. She caught him at it, and Jinn had to trade Obi-Wan to me and Obi-Wan’s lightsaber to her for his damn chips. The only reason we didn’t kill him for his banthashit was the uncomfortable attention killing a Jedi public would have drawn.” He put a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder to settle the boy. Jaster understood the instinct to defend your parent even if they were bad at it. However, Jaster didn’t want Obi-Wan putting himself in the middle of what was an issue for the adults who were caring for him to sort out.

All of the Jedi looked pained. The human man sighed heavily. “He left out that detail, and that you were the Mandalorian who’d taken Padawan Kenobi.”

“Oh, I doubt he knew. Since he forgot to ask my kriffing name or affiliation,” Jaster said lightly. “I could have been Death Watch. And you’d be getting your child back in multiple packages, refrigeration optional.”

“Your point we take,” the green creature said flatly.

“No. I don’t think you do.” Jaster leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. “According to my people’s customs, Obi-Wan was abandoned by his clan. By all rights, I should be introducing him to my officers to see if one would suit as his new parent. Out of respect for the oaths he wishes to hold to, I haven’t. However, you might understand my concern for his safety if I return him to you.”

The second small, green creature, this one with hair, hummed. “We do understand and appreciate your reservations, Mand’alor. What assurances can we offer you?”

Jaster nodded approvingly. The little, green woman at least had her head on straight. “First, you’ll send one of your own ships with a member of your council aboard to come pick Obi-Wan up. I don’t know the  _ jetiise _ well and can’t offer him the guidance he needs to understand his teacher’s action. Considering the magnitude of what could have happened, Obi-Wan is owed an explanation from one of your wise ones, not just a convenient footsoldier. Second, my child, Jango, and Obi-Wan have become good friends. They will remain in contact, with only reasonable supervision, and Obi-Wan will not be punished, shamed, or penalized for doing so. This way Jango will be able to assure me I don’t need to come retrieve Obi-Wan for his own safety. And I will come retrieve him if Jinn doesn’t cease his attempts to passively murder the boy.”

Obi-Wan flinched hard but stayed quiet. Jaster had warned him that this was a negotiation with all the half-truths that entailed. Which things Jaster believed to be half-truths he hadn’t specified to the boy.

“I’m surprised you think he’d remain as Jinn’s padawan?” the human said, eyes narrow.

“Obi-Wan specifically requested I not demand a new master for him. I assume he’d make the same request of you. Though I’d strongly suggest more oversight. Some commandos make poor instructors and poorer parents. Nothing they can do about that other than recognize it and depend on the wisdom of those better suited. It’s no sin to have weaknesses, just to pretend otherwise.” Jaster tried not to laugh at bafflement the Jedi concealed fairly well considering they thought him a brute who’d taken his throne by raw martial force.

“I will come retrieve young Obi-Wan,” the green woman informed Jaster serenely. “If that is acceptable to you?”

Jaster gestured carelessly. “Yes. And my second requirement?”

“Define reasonable supervision,” the human said.

“I understand that as Jedi padawan, Obi-Wan is involved in politically sensitive matters that might not be appropriate to discuss with the son of the  _ Mand’alor _ . However, he and Jango need the privacy to talk without either the Jedi or myself looking over their shoulders. I trust them both to self-censor as appropriate, but if Obi-Wan is on an especially sensitive mission, I understand if it is considered best if he remain out of contact until he returns. Though I’m sure both Jango and I would appreciate forewarning.”

The man pursed his lips but nodded. “Fine.”

Jaster leaned back reaching out to put one hand on Jango’s arm and the other back on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, visibly claiming both boys. “Then I look forward to meeting you, Master Jedi.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in, and I ended up doing a rewrite. I hope this turned out better than original.
> 
> Also there's a brief and vague mention of a child abduction for nefarious purposes. But she's okay! Jaster got her back and killed the bastard!

Obi-Wan shifted nervously, playing with the hem of his shirt sleeves. “ _ Udesii _ ,  _ Ob’ika _ ,” Jaster murmured, tapping the toe of his boot against the side of Obi-Wan’s foot. “Nothing is going to happen unless you want it to.

Next to Obi-Wan, Jango squeezed his hand in reassurance. “You can always stay,” Jango said, keeping his voice soft enough it wouldn’t carry. He wasn’t sulking precisely, but Obi-Wan didn’t know a better word for the way Jango had been acting since they’d woken up this morning to the news that Master Yaddle’s ship was in orbit above Mandalore. It was time for Obi-Wan to leave the daydream he’d been living in for the last month.

Obi-Wan and Jango’s schedule from the  _ Paladin _ had slotted neatly into their routine on-planet with the addition of a dozen other commandos Jaster’s age and their spouses, children, wards, and the young men and women who didn’t belong to anyone in particular but lived with Clan Mereel. Obi-Wan had been surprised to discover that there were nearly as many species among the True Mandalorians who made up House Mereel and its allied clans as there were in the temple. Jango had introduced him to the other clan kids, what all the beings in the clan who weren’t yet fully trained or married were called, as  _ Ob’ika _ , and Obi-Wan had been seamlessly folded into the daily lives of those who lived in the Clan Mereel compound at the heart of Keldabe.

Obi-Wan had spent his days in class with Jango, rotating through Jaster’s office with Jango and the other clan kids as a ‘junior administrator’, training with Jango and Arla (who was apprenticed to House Mereel’s master-at-arms), and sparring with Jaster who had a strange lightsaber he called the ‘Darksaber’. From the ancient bothan who spent most of her day in the kitchen cooking to fill the empty stomachs of nearly fifty warriors and their families, Obi-Wan had learned the stories of Tarre Vizsla,  _ Mand’alor _ and Jedi, who had built Jaster’s blade. As well as darker, sadder tales of the  _ Dral’han _ and Order’s betrayal of  _ Manda’yaim _ on the orders of the Republic. He’d slept next to Jaster that night with a reassuring hand laying heavy on his chest to guard him from visions of brilliant, white, heat scorching forest and fields to deserts and turning beskar’gam into rivulets of quicksilver.

Jango had finally won the argument about Obi-Wan’s Jedi tunics when the leggings had been torn beyond repair in a spar. All the clan kids wore similar outfits of loose shirts with long sleeves that could be tied at the shoulder to keep them out of the way and baggy pants that were tied around the waist and ankles. Instead of boots, which would need to be replaced often as they grew, Obi-Wan was given wrap shoes like the other children wore to replace his boots which were starting to pinch in the toes. The shoes were shaped pieces of thick, soft leatheris coated in textured durarubber on one side with straps that held it to the foot. They were surprisingly sturdy and comfortable. Even Jango wore them unless he was in armor.

The only necessity Obi-Wan had been given that didn’t come out of House Mereel’s communal storeroom had been his belt. The belt Jaster had given Obi-Wan had metal and semi-precious stones inlaid into it like the ones Arla, Jango, and Jaster himself wore. It also had a hook for Obi-Wan to hang his lightsaber, instead of a holster for a blaster, and pouches to make up for the lack of pockets.

With his padawan braid, braided smooth by Jango that morning, pulled back and held in place with the same band as his nerftail, Obi-Wan wondered if Master Yaddle would even be able to pick him out from the pack of children scattered around the palace garden. Everyone had wanted to see the first Jedi Master to be invited to Mandalore since the True Mandalorians had taken power. Jaster had given up trying to order people out of the throne room and just moved the proceedings to the largest of Keldabe’s royal gardens which had three levels of walkways around it so people could line the railings and look down at the spectacle below.

“You’re okay,  _ ad’ika _ ,” one of Jaster’s supercommandos murmured as she overheard Jango. “ _ Jan’ika’s _ is right. You can decide to stay with us whenever you want. Even if we have to go to Coruscant and take you back.”

“Hear, hear,” the commando standing at Jaster’s shoulder added in an undertone.

Obi-Wan blushed, ducking his head and leaning into Jango to hide. Jaster had told him the same thing multiple times, but it was reassuring to hear from the rest of House Mereel.

Jaster and his supercommandos were all in full beskar’gam and armed like they were planning on restarting the war. Besides the informal group of clanmembers acting as bodyguards, the Mandalorian Protectors, the traditional guards of the  _ Mand’alor _ , were ranged around the garden. Jaster had insisted on letting the other clan kids and off-duty trainee Protectors into the garden as well so it looked less like he was planning to ambush Master Yaddle. 

Obi-Wan wondered when it had become a normal, almost reassuring, sight to see children grouped around fully armored warriors. No one was going to admit they were nervous, but even Arla, in her off-duty clothes just like Obi-Wan’s and Jango’s, had drifted over so she was sitting on the edge of the bench Jaster had chosen opposite Jango and Obi-Wan.

There was that ripple in the Force Obi-Wan had learned meant the commandos wearing helmets were hearing something over the internal comm. They were too experienced to react physically so often the Force was the only way to tell. Jaster announced to the crowd, “The  _ jetii _ is here. Let’s mind our manner.” His tone made it clear he would be deeply unhappy with anyone who didn’t.

Master Yaddle was led into the courtyard by a group of four supercommandos who were also Mandalorian Protectors. Not a single one was over a meter and half tall out of consideration for Master Yaddle’s height. Obi-Wan squeezed Jango’s hand tightly.

“Greetings,  _ Mand’alor _ ,” Master Yaddle said in her soft, musical voice. She put her clawed hands together and bowed to Jaster. “It has been a long time since our people have spoken.”

Jaster inclined his head in greeting. “You mean since that mess at Galidraan when your Order stuck their nose where it didn’t belong and damn near got it shot off?”

Master Yaddle gave Jaster the ghost of a smile. “Indeed.” Her bright green eyes sought out and immediately found Obi-Wan. “It is good to see you well, Padawan Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan bowed to Master Yaddle as well as he could with Jango hanging onto him. “Thank you, master.”

Master Yaddle turned back to Jaster. “You have the thanks of the Jedi Order, as well as my own, for your rescue of Padawan Kenobi from his master’s foolishness,  _ Mand’alor _ . Children are precious to both our peoples. Though I know you may doubt that having witnessed Master Jinn’s overreach.”

“Cultural norms and personal actions aren’t always the same thing, Master Jedi,” Jaster said coolly neither accusing nor absolving.

“If I could make one request of you,  _ Mand’alor _ ,” Master Yaddle said unoffended, “The Force has granted us a chance for a better understanding between our peoples. Padawan Kenobi has flourished under your care even in so short a time. The results of his educational modules and the footage you provided of his training were remarkable. With your permission, I would appreciate the opportunity for him to show me what he finds instructive about life on Mandalore. To better support him when he returns to the temple.”

Jaster considered her. Obi-Wan could feel him thinking, thoughts moving smooth and quiet. Then he stood up. All the commandos tensed, along with Jango and Obi-Wan, as Jaster reached for his helmet. There was the his of air as he disengaged the gasket then he pulled it off. His hair was messy with the spikiness of helmet-sweat Obi-Wan had gotten used to seeing on commandos.

“Jaster Mereel,” he informed Master Yaddle. “If we’re going to be talking about one of my  _ ad’ike _ then you may as well use my name.”

“Please call me Yaddle,” Master Yaddle said with a graceful tilt of her head, “if we are to speak of one of my students.”

Jaster nodded, “My daughter, Arla Fett, and my son, Jango Fett. The commandos with my sigil in red on their shoulder are Headhunter Company, my family, and their children, also mine.  _ Ob’ika _ has been living with us as one of our own.”

Master Yaddle smiled softly. “Thank you, Jaster.”

“It’s our way, Yaddle. When a child is so full of  _ mandokar _ , you thank the stars and hang on with both hands.” Jaster glanced over at the boys. “So,  _ ad’ike _ , would you like to show Yaddle we haven’t just been teaching  _ Ob’ika _ how to hunt mythosaurs and swear in  _ Mando’a _ .”

Jango stood up still holding Obi-Wan’s hand. Myles, one of the clan kids about Jango’s age, and a few of the youngest ones Obi-Wan had become friendly with crowded around them. “Mythosaurs are extinct,” Obi-Wan protested like he usually would when Jaster was teasing him before he remembered that Master Yaddle was watching. He blushed and looked down at the ground.

“That’s why you and  _ Jan’ika _ have been hunting shatual instead.” Jaster reached over and ruffled Jango’s hair followed by Obi-Wan’s.

Responding to Jaster’s gestures of trust and Obi-Wan’s confidence, the group of clan kids with Obi-Wan in the center descended on Master Yaddle to introduce themselves. Obi-Wan bowed awkwardly as Jango glared at her. “Thank you for coming, Master Yaddle.”

She hummed reaching up to gently pat his lowered head, echoing Jaster’s hair ruffle. “You don’t need to thank me, Obi-Wan. It’s my privilege to be allowed on Mandalore to bring the young man who impressed the  _ Mand’alor _ home.”

Then, to Obi-Wan’s shock, Master Yaddle put her hands together and bowed to Jango. “Thank you, young one, for protecting Obi-Wan when the Jedi failed to. I can see much of your father in you.”

Jango nodded stiffly, but Obi-Wan knew it pleased him to be compared to Jaster. Then, because he was Jango and his father’s son, he said bluntly, “ _ Ob’ika _ should stay with us. No  _ Mando’ad _ worth their name would treat a  _ verd’ika _ like the Jedi do. He’s better off as a Mandalorian.”

Master Yaddle’s ears drooped as Obi-Wan hissed in  _ Mando’a _ at Jango trying not to implode in embarrassment. “That is a reasonable view to hold, young Fett. I hope we can alleviate your concerns while respecting Obi-Wan’s wishes.”

Jango continued to glare completely unashamed. “We’ll see,” he said darkly.

Jaster let out the loud, two note whistle he used to summon any nearby clan kids. Obi-Wan turned to look at him with all the others. “We’re starting at the compound,” Jaster ordered just a few shades softer than when he was commanding a squad of grown warriors. “ _ Jan’ika _ ,  _ Ob’ika _ , take point with Yaddle. All  _ adiike _ in the center.  _ My’ika _ ,  _ Sil’ika _ , you’re on wing guard. I’ll be bringing up the rear with  _ Arl’ika _ . We’re taking the main road. Listen to any orders the  _ ramikade _ give you even if they aren’t Mereel. Ready!”

“‘ _ Lek, Jas’ba _ !” Obi-Wan, as Jango substituted ‘ _ Jas’bu _ ’, called out with the rest of the clan kids.

Waving his arm above his head, Jaster made the handsign to form up in good order. “ _ Jatne _ ! And march!”

They kept the pace slow both for Master Yaddle and for the comfort of the smaller clan kids. It gave Obi-Wan a chance to prod Jango into talking about Keldabe. Normally, Jango wouldn’t shut up about how interesting and historical Keldabe was when he and Obi-Wan were exploring. It took an elbow to the side and nearly tripping both of them in an attempt to step on Jango’s toes, but Obi-Wan got Jango to tell Master Yaddle to how Keldabe had grown from the fort of a long-dead clan to a central trading hub to the capital of Mandalore.

The Clan Mereel compound, technically House Mereel since multiple clans lived there, had been a hotel before the Death Watch had bombed it early in the war. It was a single story building wrapped around a large courtyard that had been converted into a training arena. Interior walls had been knocked down to create long, open rooms with multiple entrances that served as private areas for the different clans. Some individual rooms remained, which Obi-Wan had been embarrassed to discover were for the use of married couples or others who needed privacy. The lobby had been converted into the main communal area where Jaster, Jango, Arla, and Obi-Wan slept on bedrolls along with everyone who was part of House Mereel but not a specific clan.

Obi-Wan had found it not unlike the temple dormitories with hydroponics setups running along the walls filling the entire facility with green and the smell of herbs. “It’s a little like the creche,” Obi-Wan explained to Master Yaddle, pointing out the closet where they kept the bedrolls and spare blankets. “The other clans, families, have their own quarters. But since we’re the house clan, everyone who doesn’t have a clan to protect them stays with us. That’s only to sleep though. All of us, the younglings in House Mereel, do our education modules together in the morning.”

Master Yaddle hummed approvingly. “Who do you go to if you have questions about your classes?”

“Well, there’s usually someone around,” Obi-Wan said unsure how to explain there was always at least a handful of older warriors nearby who would put aside whatever they were doing to answer questions or help. “I usually save my questions for Jaster when we eat midmeal with him.”

“How often is that?” Master Yaddle asked, pausing to admire a new aquaponics setup someone was experimenting with.

Obi-Wan blinked. “Every day.”

Jango added, a little offended, “ _ Buir _ spends the hour before training with us. Everyone knows not to disturb him.”

“And what do you train in?” Master Yaddle asked politely, ignoring Jango’s snapping.

“We mostly train with the Protectors at the palace,” Obi-Wan explained hurriedly to cover for his friend. “Because not many commandos use a  _ beskad _ , a sword. So I have to train with Taayhai since he knows all the old forms meant for fighting Jedi. Jaster teaches me when he can because he’s got a saber too. It’s… strange, but he’s very good even if he uses non-Jedi forms. Though I still have to practice all my katas with Taayhai. For every form. Every day.” Taayhai didn’t officially know the different Jedi forms, but he was good enough with a sword to pick out the flaws in Obi-Wan’s defense and attacks while he performed his katas. Obi-Wan’s katas had actually, noticeably improved while training with him.

“I do have to run the obstacle course with everyone else,” Obi-Wan added, pointing out to the edifice of walls, ropes, rocks, durasteel poles, and durarubber pads the older children chased the younger children through twice a day. It was actually fun with a great deal of screaming laughter and tickling anyone who was too slow.

Master Yaddle smiled. “Indeed. I’m sure it’s a chore,” she said with a soft laugh she didn’t quite voice. She spent most of her time in the creche and knew how much younglings loved to climb and jump.

Obi-Wan showed her the ‘classroom’ which was also the general refractory at meal times. “I do dishes in the morning, work on paperwork with Jaster after training, and help bathe the babies at night,” he explained. “We all rotate chores, but I’m good with the littlest ones so Jango and I are permanently on bath duty.”

“And you, young Fett, do you enjoy spending time with the younglings?” Master Yaddle asked as they made their way back outside.

Jango shrugged. “Little nippers are pretty cute,” he admitted grudgingly. “Especially when they’re old enough to really have personalities.”

Master Yaddle gave him a small smile. “It is you that they will look up to as they grow, young Fett. They will remember your kindness.”

The group looped back to the palace through the training grounds. They stopped to watch two Protectors training in aerial target practice, shooting at training droids while maneuvering through the air with their jetpacks. Obi-Wan watched them enviously. He’d only been allowed to try a jetpack once with the help of an instructor. Using one required strengthening the core and legs since the body had to be held in specific positions for long periods of time. Obi-Wan was working on the exercises designed to build up the muscles and ingrain the movements necessary to use a jetpack safely, but it was slow going.

Jango nudged him sympathetically. He’d started training to use a jetpack with his Journeyman Protector father. By the time Jaster had one sized for him, Jango had been able to do the ground exercises in his sleep. He flew as easily as he ran or jumped. Obi-Wan had gone up with him several times when he was practicing maneuvers to recover injured commandos.

“Do you know how to use one of those, Obi-Wan?” Master Yaddle asked. She actually looked a little bit uncomfortable with the thought as she watched one of the Protectors go head over heels before correcting their trajectory.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “You have to train on the ground for at least a year first. I only started my ground exercises when I arrived on Mandalore.  _ Jan’ika _ is actually one of the instructors in aerial combat because he’s so good. He lets me go up with him during recovery drills, when commandos with jetpacks practice extracting those without.” He paused when he realized that there was no point in doing the exercises since he was going back to the temple.

“I will have Jaster provide a copy of your exercises for Master Drallig. He can supervise your training in these matters I am sure,” Master Yaddle said serenely. A sly smile curled her wrinkled mouth. “I imagine a knight who needs no ship to fly will be quite a sight indeed.”

“The  _ Mando’kade _ used jetpacks,” Jaster said, having sicced the other tagalongs on the Protectors’ instructors since Master Yaddle had proven to be less interesting than expected for the other clan kids. “The Jedi who realized Revan’s corruption trained in our ways. Some never returned to the Republic and remained with their clans, spouses, and children on Mandalore. Legend holds the Shriekhawk maneuvers, the most dangerous and impressive of the traditional drills, originated with a  _ Mando’kad _ .”

Master Yaddle looked over at Jaster, and Obi-Wan could tell she was surprised. “Those are very esoteric stories. I must admit I’m only passingly familiar with Revan and their history.”

Jaster absently stepped between Jango and Obi-Wan, wrapping an arm around each of them as he frowned at one Protector’s performance. “There’s more than one way to kill a person, Yaddle. Destroying the knowledge of who they are is one of the crueller ones. I’ve become something of an amateur historian over the years trying to save what’s left after the Old Republic’s purge of our ancient archival sites.”

“A purge which the Jedi were part of,” Master Yaddle said, watching the drills as well.

“Yes. So were many others. But you can’t keep reopening old wounds forever. Eventually they’ll go rotten and kill the rest of the body. Better to let it scar over, to remember, but to heal.” Jaster pulled Obi-Wan closer knowing how uncomfortable the stories around the  _ Dral’han _ made him. “It’s not forgiveness. It’s survival. The galaxy’s changed since Mandalore’s destruction. There are more important wars to fight now. Like hunger, lack of medical care, pirates and raiders, lack of trade. Vengeance is no good if you’re not around to enjoy it.”

To Obi-Wan’s shock Master Yaddle laughed very softly. “And the best revenge is living well?”

Jaster snorted. “It's the better alternative.” He dropped an absent kiss on top of Jango’s head before turning to do the same for Obi-Wan. “Also that  _ di’kut _ is about to roast his own feet. Vau!”

Obi-Wan and Jango rolled their eyes at each other as Jaster’s roar echoed across the training ground drawing everyone’s attention. Jaster had lungs that could cross a battlefield if he needed. The commando who’d been trying to scald his own feet with his jetpack’s exhaust landed and cut the power to his pack. An older commando was headed his way with a look on her face that promised she was going to sort him out whether he liked it or not.

“Jango, next time you have drills with him pull Vau for retraining on his reversals. If he cooks his feet, I’ll make him eat them,” Jaster growled narrow eyed as the young commando argued with his more experienced peer.

Jango bared his teeth in an unhappy smile. “ _ ‘Lek, Buir _ .” He took his duties as an instructor seriously and was embarrassed one of his students had made such a serious error in front of Master Yaddle.

“His take-offs and landings have gotten a lot better since you started working with him,” Obi-Wan offered, trying to soothe Jango’s injured pride.

“Better isn’t enough. Competence is the bare minimum for a commando,” Jango said fiercely only breathing in deeply when Jaster squeezed his shoulder. “You know I’m right,  _ Ob’ika _ . What if he was doing an injury retrieval? There’d be two dead soldiers.”

Obi-Wan grimaced because Jango wasn’t wrong. He’d been paranoid about the dispersal drills the Young had practiced for similar reasons. “Just don’t go at Vau head-on. He’s… prickly.”

Jango looked up at Jaster for confirmation though he knew Obi-Wan was usually right about these things. “A kicked wolf only knows how to do two things,” Jaster began.

“Snap and cower,” Jango and Obi-Wan repeated the rest of one of Jaster’s favorite mantras.

“A disciplined wolf knows when to show their teeth. Vau’s trying to figure out the difference,  _ Jan’ika _ . Someone kicked him a few to many times along the way.” Jaster nudged Obi-Wan approvingly. “Good instincts,  _ Ob’ika _ . How would you suggest Jango approach Vau?”

Obi-Wan nibbled on his bottom lip while he thought. “He’ll be defensive in a group, but if you offered him ‘extra’ training he’d take it in a heartbeat. He respects Jaster and wants to impress him. If you help him towards that goal, Vau will be much more receptive to correction.”

Jango pursed his lips considering. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted. “I’ll talk to him during hand-to-hand. He’s a junior instructor so he’ll feel more confident there.  _ Buir _ ?”

“It’s similar to how I would handle the situation,  _ Jan’ika _ . Give it a shot. If it doesn’t work, you can always go for the direct approach.” Jaster gave them both a quick, one-armed hug. “Good job, both of you.” Obi-Wan noticed Master Yaddle watching the three of them with a thoughtful expression before Jaster guided them over to the large, shallow depressions that were used as rings for spars.

“Would you like to see how  _ Ob’ika’s _ skill with a lightsaber has progressed?” Jaster asked Master Yaddle.

“Indeed I would. A friendly spar perhaps?” she asked with an intent gaze.

Jaster took the boxy hilt of his saber off his belt and offered it to Jango. “You heard the  _ jetii _ . Play nice,  _ ad’ike _ .”

Jango was only passingly decent with a  _ beskad _ or equivalent, but he liked to spar with Obi-Wan just for the thrill of using Jaster’s strange lightsaber. The few times Obi-Wan had handled it the vibrations rumbling through the hilt made his teeth feel like they were going to rattle out of his skull. He preferred the more hesitant buzz and nearly white, blue blade of his shoto.

The healed kyber crystal was fragile compared to Obi-Wan’s original crystal. It had let him release its pain into the Force, bleeding away the red until it burned clear once more. However, the powerpack used by a standard saber hurt the shard of kyber in a way Obi-Wan couldn’t understand and couldn’t fix. Jaster had suggested using a weaker powerpack and reducing the blade length to avoid having a blade always at training strength. Obi-Wan loved his shoto blade. Its hesitant song in the Force was usually a comfort, but he could only feel shame as he ignited his blade in a reverse grip and drew a vibroblade in his free hand. This wasn’t how a Jedi was supposed to fight even though it was the most effective method Obi-Wan and Taayhai had found with the shorter blade.

Jango adjusted the settings on the hilt of Jaster’s saber to shorten the blade a few inches to make it appropriate for his height. Neither bothered to set their weapons to training strength. Obi-Wan had learned that Mandalorians believed that if you were old enough to be carrying real weapons, you were old enough to be training with them. Training weapons were only used in circumstances where risk of death or injury was a certainty. For an easy, friendly spar, Obi-Wan and Jango were expected to be well-trained and controlled enough to use their weapons on full power.

Master Yaddle said nothing as Obi-Wan and Jango both took their opening positions. Obi-Wan settled into the modified Soresu stance Taayhai had been drilling him on. Fighting against Mandalorians with slug-throwers loaded with training impact rounds had taught Obi-Wan just how vulnerable Ataru acrobatics left him. Taayhai had been helping him find a mix of Shii-Cho and Soresu that left less gaping holes in his defense.

Jango favored the basic  _ beskad _ forms which were all the training he had in swordwork. It made for a quick fight. Obi-Wan used his shoto to lock up Jango’s saber in four moves. Then held the vibroblade near Jango’s neck. If it had been an open spar, Jango would have turned off his saber to disengage then switched to hand-to-hand, which he was better at, to try and take one of Obi-Wan’s weapons before attempting another attack with the saber. Instead, Jango turned off his saber and stepped back with his hands held out at his sides.

Obi-Wan lowered his own weapons a little disappointed they couldn’t keep going. Sparring with Jango was tough but fun. “I think you lasted two moves longer than last time,” he teased instead.

“Shut up,” Jango growled playfully. “Let me get my blasters and we’ll try again. Just make sure you have bacta gel,  _ Ob’ika _ .”

“You want to go,  _ Jan’ika _ ?” Obi-Wan said, hefting his lightsaber.

Jaster interrupted them before a bare-handed, but friendly, brawl could break out, “Later,  _ ad’ike _ . If you’re that full of energy, you can run down to the kitchen and tell them to send up midmeal for all of us to my office. Yaddle, any preferences to pass along?”

“Padawan Kenobi knows my dietary requirements,” she replied watching Obi-Wan curiously. “Young Obi-Wan, Master Jinn informed the Council that your lightsaber was lost on the mission.”

Obi-Wan bit the inside of his cheek at the stab of useless, grieved anger at the reminder. Jaster answered sharply. “I think we have another instance of Jinn rewording something for his own benefit.  _ Ob’ika’s _ lightsaber was traded by Jinn in order to get what he wanted in the same deal that put  _ Ob’ika _ in my care. His new saber was a gift from me, and no I didn’t kill a Jedi for it. Or at least, he wasn’t a Jedi when I killed him.”

“Wait you killed a Jedi?” Jango demanded. “ _ Buir _ !”

Jaster chuckled. “No. I did not, and don’t scare  _ Ob’ika _ like that. Story before you go. But then midmeal.” Jango and Obi-Wan both chimed in agreement, eager to hear about another of Jaster’s adventures.

“Right. So I would have been five or six years older than  _ Jan’ika _ . It wasn’t long after that mess on Concord Dawn. There was a plague burning through Mandalore, mostly affecting the very young and very old. Anti-virals were available but too expensive, and the Republic was limiting export. I was taking whatever bounties I could in Republic space, buying anti-virals in bulk, and shipping them back to Mandalore. There was a Republic planet on the mid-rim where I met a sympathetic medtech who was selling me the anti-virals at cost and using the money to purchase new stock for the clinic to get around the export limit.”

“Was she pretty?” Jango asked, a bit snotty.

Jaster smirked at his son. “She and her husband were very attractive, yes.” Jango groaned while Obi-Wan patted his back sympathetically.

Jaster’s expression darkened when he continued. “They had a daughter a bit younger than  _ Ob’ika _ . It was the age when a lot of children got serious about politics on that planet. She was working as a politician's aid and considering running for local office herself. I met her only twice. She was smart, sharp, and with a soul full of grace. Stars-touched. Unfortunately, the politician she was working for noticed to. When I came back for more anti-virals, my friend told me that her daughter had disappeared, and she knew who’d done the deed. It was the old story. She had no evidence. He had money and a family name. So I offered to get the girl back, or whatever I could find of her. I found the girl, alive stars be kind, and the politician. He tried to kill me with a red-bladed lightsaber. So I killed him and took whatever I could so my friend would have the money to get her daughter any treatment she needed. I kept the saber as a trophy.”

“What happened to the girl?” Obi-Wan asked anxiously.

Putting a hand on his shoulder, Jaster drew him comfortingly into his side. “I don’t know,  _ Ob’ika _ . I was caught on security cams killing the politician. The local authorities called it assassination and weren’t interested in asking why I was there. I had to leave quickly, and my friend couldn’t contact me for her own safety. I think the girl is okay. My friend was a damn good medtech, and the stars look after their own.”

Jango’s fists were clenched in rage, thin lipped and narrow eyed. “It was right you killed him,  _ Buir _ .” He then spat a word in  _ Mando’a _ Obi-Wan didn’t know. “ _ Demagolka _ .”

Jaster gestured for Jango to come over for his own hug. “Yes,  _ Jan’ika _ . He was. There’s very few things someone can’t come back from. You can walk all the way into the heart of a dark star, wade through an ocean of blood, and still find your way home. But the thing that hurt my friend’s daughter wasn’t a person anymore. You see something like that, you put them down hard and fast.  _ Tion gar suvavi, verd’ike _ ?”

Obi-Wan nodded his understanding only then remembering Master Yaddle was watching. He flushed and darted a covert glance over expecting disapproval. She was watching Jaster thoughtfully. “If you are willing to give me more information, Jaster, I can find out the fate of your friends and their daughter. A red lightsaber is of concern to the Jedi. It would be routine to send a young knight to investigate such a rumor.”

“Naboo. You shouldn’t have to look too hard. I’m still a wanted man there. The only reason it's not the whole Republic is the family’s dedication to covering up the events related to their nephew’s murder.” Jaster shrugged when Obi-Wan gave him an incredulous look. “People have strange ideas about Mandalorians in the Republic,  _ Ob’ika _ . They assumed I was some kind of paid assassin looking to expand my client base.”

“But you say the blade was red?” Master Yaddle asked. “Young Obi-Wan, may I see your saber?”

Obi-Wan unhooked his saber from his belt and passed it to her. Holding politely away from them, she ignited the blade and examined it. Then turned it off and suspended it in the air with the Force. Eyes closed, she probed with her mind examining the construction in detail.

All the parts had been swapped out for new except for the crystal. The hilt was from a training sword Arla had broken which had been hollowed out and the appropriate holes for switches and dials drilled through it. The powerpack was a spare for Jaster’s plasma shotgun, and the condenser from one of Jango’s old basters. The other components had been scrounged and machined as necessary. The new casing and components had convinced the kyber crystal it was safe, and the blade had finally picked up a blue tinge when Obi-Wan had assembled it.

“The crystal is weary,” she noted, “but still strong. How did you heal it, young one?”

“It was Jango’s idea actually,” Obi-Wan admitted. “I’d read that ancient Masters could heal crystals, but meditating with it just scared it. So Jango suggested I talk to it, let it know it was safe and what my plans for it were. After a while, it started listening. When it trusted me, I was able to release its pain into the Force using the same method as assisted empty meditation. It’s not as strong as it was before.” Feeling a little defensive of his poor crystal he added, “But it doesn’t have to be. It’s strong enough to get the job done in its own way.”

Master Yaddle nodded in agreement. “Yes. There is often more than one path to success. It is well done, padawan. There are masters among us who could not have done what you have. You should be proud.”

Obi-Wan accepted his saber back with a bow. “Jaster and Jango helped me a lot. And I know Arla talked to it too when I got stuck.”

“But you’re the one who did the hard part,” Jaster said firmly. “We helped. You did the heavy lifting. That’s something to be proud of,  _ Ob’ika _ . I’m proud of you.” His tone didn’t leave room for protests. Obi-Wan inclined his head in acceptance. Sometimes it seemed like Jaster praised everything his children (and Obi-Wan) and his commandos did, but he never gave a compliment that didn’t ring with sincerity in the Force. Obi-Wan had learned there was no point in arguing.

Jango’s stomach growled and blushed, shifting from foot to foot. “Sorry,  _ Ob’ika _ .”

Obi-Wan's own gut gurgled in sympathy. He grimaced. “I’m hungry too.”

“Midmeal,” Jaster reminded them both. “Before you start gnawing on the furniture. Come to my office when you’ve finished with the kitchen.” He held out his hand. “ _ Kad’au _ ,  _ Jan’ika _ .”

Reluctantly Jango handed over Jaster’s saber following Obi-Wan who was already thinking about the sweet scraps uj cake the head cook would slip him if he looked pathetic enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaddle and Jaster discuss the fact Jaster is concerned about Obi-Wan having PTSD (which he calls combat fatigue since that sounds more mando) starting with Melida/Daan. So, this is a fluffy story, but basically all the characters were child soldiers at some point. Also, Jaster talks about what it means for a Mandalorian to be an adult at 13 years old.

Jaster piled up some actual paper and leatheris books on one of the chairs across from his desk and topped it with a throw from the couch in the corner so Yaddle could look him in the eye without giving herself a crick in the neck. “Well, Yaddle, are you convinced I haven’t completely corrupted your student with my barbarous ways?” he asked lightly.

Yaddle chuckled softly. “Oh, he’s absolutely unsalvageable at this point,” she replied in the same tone.

Jaster appreciated a worthy opponent. Especially one good enough to play without anyone else knowing there was a game going on. “In case you're not aware by now, Obi-Wan has severe combat fatigue. I’m not certain your people recognize it since the symptoms in children can be different from those in adults. Particularly when the kid’s guardian is already barely paying attention to him.”

Yaddle inclined her head. “May I ask the basis for your diagnosis?”

“Experience. The war only ended eighteen months ago, and almost every being in the sector was affected by it in some way. Combat fatigue and its various permutations are something Mandalorians have dealt with for a long time. We have support systems and management methods baked into our culture.” Jaster turned on the kettle in the corner and started making a pot of shig. “My sixteen year old son started serving as one of my officers at thirteen. His sister was seventeen. They both had multiple kills to their names before I adopted them. My  _ verd’ike _ , the young warriors who live with us because they have nowhere else to go, were all ground infantry.”

He poured the hot water through the filter bag of leaves and bark into the pot. “Thirteen standard is considered adulthood for a Mandalorian. Most people in the Republic assume that means we kick our children out the house like avians from the nest while they’re still in puberty, but that’s not the norm. At thirteen, a parent can no longer force a child to obey. You can ask, you can reason, you can even order if your relationship with your child is good enough to endure it. But at thirteen, you can’t force your children to stay in safety while you go into battle. Would your children remain behind while you faced danger if they had a choice?”

Yaddle hummed. “I have had many padawans,” she replied. “And they would have rather followed me into the Void than stay behind.”

“Mandalorian children are no different, possibly worse.” Jaster smiled grimly as he put two mugs, one large and one small enough for Yaddle to hold comfortably, onto the tray with the pot. “So we learned to take care of them. Some of us are better at it than others I’ll grant you, but tradition gives us a basic idea of how to identify and handle combat fatigue in children as well as adults.”

“And you think the Jedi are unfamiliar with treating combat fatigue in children?” Yaddle asked mildly.

“I think it's something so few of your younglings experience that you don’t know how to properly identify it unless it manifests with symptoms more commonly seen in adults,” Jaster corrected as he carried the over to his desk and set it between them. “Obi-Wan’s symptoms are severe but easy to miss if you’re looking for shakes, flashbacks, and hyperarousal. Shig? It’s a kind of herbal infusion. The main component is a mild stimulant.”

“Yes, please.” Yaddle accepted the smaller mug from Jaster and took a small sip. She let out a long, pleased sigh. “This is lovely.”

“I’ll pass on the compliment. Arla mixes up this blend for me to keep me awake during budget meetings.” Jaster picked up his own mug. “ _ Ob’ika _ has improved significantly since I first met him. That’s not surprising and has little to do with me personally. It’s generally accepted fact among my people that children recover more quickly than adults from combat fatigue given loving support, structure, and consistency. My fear is that the loss of the support, structure, and care he receives while living with the other ad’ike in my clan will cause him to regress when he returns to your temple. Or that he’ll be retraumatized by your people. Obi-Wan told me he’d been strongly discouraged from discussing what happened on Melida/Daan with anyone. Which is the stupidest bantha poodoo I’ve ever heard. Kids need to talk about their experiences to deal with them properly.”

Yaddle’s ears flattened against her head and she frowned. “I wasn’t aware of that. I agree that discussions with a trusted adult are important for children who are processing trauma. Usually that role is filled successfully by a padawan’s master. Or a friend of their master’s in some cases if a more specific need must be met. Obviously our informal system failed Padawan Kenobi.”

“It’s not like our children have never been failed by our systems either, Yaddle,” Jaster offered kindly. She obviously cared about Obi-Wan and hadn’t been aware just how badly things had been going for him.

“Honestly, I don’t believe young Obi-Wan has enough trust in any Jedi to speak about his experiences on Melida/Daan.” Yaddle set her mug down, bright green eyes meeting Jaster’s. “You required the Order to let him maintain contact with your son. I would request that you remain in contact with him as well, Jaster. He obviously trusts you, and you have a great deal of experience with children who’ve endured war. If we need to formalize the relationship then the Order could pay you as an outside contractor.”

It felt wrong to Jaster, and he wasn’t in the habit of ignoring the stars. “No. It can’t be about creds, and Obi-Wan is too old for one of my people to force an adoption on him since he’s fourteen. It’ll have to be something else.” Both he and Yaddle sipped their shig as they considered the problem.

Yaddle set down her mug with a brilliant smile. “How long has it been since Mandalore has had a Jedi ambassador?”

Jaster thought through all the histories he’d read. “Officially, the last one was Tarre Vizsla.”

“The Jedi Ambassador to Mandalore would be expected to maintain open lines of communication with the planetary leaders, such as the  _ Mand’alor _ and his children. Obviously your contentious relationship with the Republic means it will be many years before your ambassador would be required to fulfill their formal duties to the Senate. Obi-Wan would be a senior padawan at least by then.” Yaddle nodded in satisfaction. “As a council member, I have the authority to assign Jedi to ambassadorial positions for non-Republic entities. Therefore,  _ Mand’alor _ , would you accept the appointment of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Padawan, as Jedi Ambassador to Mandalore? At this point, his duties would be to maintain open lines of communication with you and your clan and an annual visit to your capital to support diplomatic relations.”

“I accept,” Jaster said holding out his arm before remembering Yaddle might not recognize the gesture.

However, she stood up and grabbed as much of his forearm as she could while he gently grasped hers. “Thank you,  _ Mand’alor _ , for helping the Jedi Order reestablish diplomatic relations with your people. It’s been a long time coming.”

“I look forward to seeing more of you, Yaddle. Since I assume you’ll be advising  _ Ob’ika _ in his new role.” Jaster shared a knowing smile with the smaller Jedi Master.

“After much discussion, it was indeed decided I should assist in Padawan Kenobi’s training.” Yaddle picked her mug back up. “However, Master Jinn will remain his primary teacher.”

Jaster grimaced. “With  _ Ob’ika _ insisting on it, there’s not much else you can do. My own opinions aside, I understand.” He took a long slug to wash away the acrid taste of those words. “On a lighter note, my clan has arranged a farewell party for  _ Ob’ika _ tonight. I understand it's supposed to be a surprise.  _ Jan’ika _ and  _ Arl’ika _ were quite insistent on that point. Apparently, I can’t be trusted to prevaricate properly. I’d appreciate it if you could find an excuse to delay your departure until after latemeal?”

Yaddle held out her mug for Jaster to refill. “Pour me some more of that lovely shig, and I’m sure I could be convinced.”


	6. Chapter 6

Obi-Wan ran his fingers up and down his lightsaber, the one Master Qui-gon had given way. The beautiful twi’lek who’d accepted it as a payment originally held up the shimmery stones Master Yaddle had given her to the light. “The mando?” she asked absently as she picked up another stone to examine.

“Yes,” Master Yaddle said in a tone that was perfectly pleasant and bland, “the payment was provided by our friend.”

“Damn, kid. You got lucky. And I’m a little mad I didn’t.” The twi’lek nodded in satisfaction. “The lightsaber is yours, baby Jedi. You headed back to your tribe or can I convince you two to stay for our dinner special?”

“Unfortunately we’re expected.” Master Yaddle smiled at the twi’lek. “But thank you for the kind offer.”

The twi’lek nodded amiably. “Well, you tell your new dad he’s welcome back any time, kid. You too, mistress. We’ve got a special on fried amphibians every thirdday.”

“I will keep it in mind next time I’m sector,” Master Yaddle promised. She held up her hand, and Obi-Wan helped her up to sit comfortably on his shoulder. Her claws held lightly to the heavy fabric collar of the blue cloak, one of Arla’s cast-offs, which he wore to stave off the chill of space travel. His Mandalorian-style clothing was more suited for the heat and sunlight of the planet’s day cycle.

Obi-Wan hung his lightsaber from his belt opposite his shoto on the hook he’d added on their way to the planet where he’d been separated from his master. Both he and Master Yaddle pulled up the hoods of their cloaks and blended in with the eclectic crowd of spacers as they made their way back to the  _ Radiant XI _ .

The  _ Radiant _ ’s pilot was a young, grim-faced zabrak knight named Agen Kolar. He’d only just been knighted and was taking his first mission with the sort of seriousness that would have made Obi-Wan roll his eyes when he was younger. Now, he was grateful for Knight Kolar’s direct, focused approach to everything he did. It reminded Obi-Wan very much of one of Jaster’s commandos.

The silence was uncomfortable. The Mandalorians hadn’t had much more than stubbornness to shield their thoughts in the Force. While some, like Jaster and Jango, seemed to only let their thoughts and emotions be sensed when they intended, the other clan kids had been rippling points of light, a white noise of emotion, pointless thoughts, and life in the Force. Obi-Wan had been able to reach and brush along their edges to make sure they were safe and content with little effort. Even Jango, after a bit of practice, had been easy to feel. Jaster had projected calm and rock-solid steadiness that Obi-Wan had been able to cling to from half-way across Keldabe. Arla had been a fire that burned too hot to comfortably touch for long. She’d been bright enough Obi-Wan hadn’t worried about being close since he could find her from even further away than Jaster. Master Yaddle’s muted warmth and the cool bulwark of Knight Kolar’s neatly organized mind left him feeling empty. 

“You were successful?” Knight Kolar demanded when Obi-Wan and Master Yaddle boarded the ship. Obi-Wan pushed his cloak back silently showing the knight his lost saber had been returned. “Good. You should be less careless in the future, padawan. Your lightsaber is your life.”

“Yes, master,” Obi-Wan said obediently, holding himself perfectly still to hide his flinch. He’d forgotten how much it stung.

Master Yaddle cleared her throat pointedly to draw Knight Kolar’s attention. “Padawan Kenobi wasn’t careless, Knight Kolar. Master Jinn was the one who traded his lightsaber away. Carelessness would be assuming from mere temple rumor you know the totality of the situation.”

Knight Kolar flushed. “Ah. Yes, well… My apologies for my hasty words, Padawan Kenobi. I was misinformed.”

Obi-Wan nodded stiffly. He fled gratefully to his bunk when Master Yaddle dismissed him. Jango had given Obi-Wan his old vambraces. The durasteel had been repainted since Arla insisted black and gold weren’t appropriate colors for a Jedi. Now they were white and blue with mythosaur skulls stenciled in Jaster’s red near the elbows.

Running his finger around the shape of the skull, Obi-Wan wished Jango were with him. Master Yaddle had kept him on the same schedule as he’d had on Mandalore with his educational modules, chores around the ship, and training, but Obi-Wan hadn’t realized just how much free time he had until there wasn’t anyone else to spend it with. Jango had been by his side more often than not, and if Jango had duties elsewhere there’d been Arla to bother, or Myles to train with, or Erthripa to help in the kitchen, or Jaster assist with paperwork.

If Obi-Wan had needed a moment alone, he could go sit in the damp, shady grove of trees just outside the compound where mushrooms were farmed and meditate on one of the boulders strewn through the small copse of trees. Living in such close quarters everyone knew how to politely ignore someone if they needed time to themselves. Now Obi-Wan didn’t want to be by himself, but there was no one around to just sit with while they did their own tasks.

Slipping on the vambraces, Obi-Wan locked them in place and flexed his arms to feel the weight. Blue was Jango’s color. It meant reliability, for good or ill Jaster had added with a sly smile for Jango. There was a quiet tap on the door frame that warned him he wasn’t alone. He flinched. His attention had wandered. If he’d been paying proper attention then Master Yaddle should have been able to trust the Force had alerted him.

“Enough,” she said firmly. Her claws clicked softly against the floor as she made her way over to him. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Why do you chastise yourself so?”

“I should have known you wanted my attention, master,” Obi-Wan replied, keeping his eyes apologetically lowered. “I need to pay more attention to my surroundings.

Master Yaddle pulled herself up onto his bunk to sit next to him. “I know Jaster spoke to you about the necessity of even the finest warrior or diplomat to take time to truly rest. Just because he does not use the Force as we do does not mean there isn’t wisdom in his experience.”

Obi-Wan hesitated. “Jaster said a lot of things,” he admitted. “But he also said he wasn’t a Jedi.”

Master Yaddled smiled. “No. He very much is not. But the Jedi aren’t the sole purveyors of wisdom. No one being or group is. Though much wisdom is in its own way universal. Merely restated for easier cultural understanding.”

“Then how do you know if it's right for a Jedi?” Obi-Wan asked curiously.

“You ask your instructors or turn the archives and see what others have said. There are some who claim there’s not an original idea left in the galaxy. I don’t know if that’s true, but there’s undeniably repetition. That’s why the archives are so useful.” Master Yaddle patted his vambrace. “But no matter what anyone else tells you, Obi-Wan, what’s right for a Jedi is something you must decide for yourself. There is no one perfect Jedi, no one Jedi. We are all Jedi, and, as much as we have in common, we are not all the same being. Take your vambraces for instance. Will you wear them at the temple?”

Obi-Wan hesitated. The correct answer was no. It was too blatant a display of connection with the Jedi’s historic enemy. At the same time, he was now the ambassador to Mandalore and it would be appropriate to acknowledge his connection to them. However, he was young for an ambassador. He was already suspect to most other Jedi after leaving the Order to fight for the Young. If his instructors perceived as putting on airs, their already intense disapproval would become more targeted. Master Qui-Gon would be especially unhappy since he already questioned Obi-Wan’s commitment to the Order. So while the vambraces represented his commitment to helping the Order find common ground with the new Mandalorian regime, no one would believe Oafy-Wan was ambassador to Mandalore and deserved to wear them.

“What would your friends say if you told them you weren’t comfortable wearing their gift in your own home?” Master Yaddle asked.

“Jango would want to fight everyone,” Obi-Wan replied, unable to stop himself from chuckling. “Arla would say they were stupid then try to help me find some way to prank them without anyone finding out. Jaster… I think Jaster would be worried. He didn’t have a home for a long time. Having a place where we can feel safe is important to him.”

“Do you not feel safe in the temple, Obi-Wan?” Master Yaddle.

Obi-Wan flinched, reaching up to trace the mythosaur skull again. The gesture helped settle him. “Of course I feel safe in the temple. It’s my home.”

Master Yaddle tapped her claw curiously against the red paint like she expected it to be raised. “If you decide you wish to wear them, tell any who comment that I have required you to wear your armor as a reminder of your new responsibilities.”

It was the perfect excuse for Obi-Wan to wear the armor he’d been given. The other Jedi would see it as punishment, a way of reminding him of the weight he carried. They would approve. “Thank you, Master Yaddle,” he said gratefully.

“No thanks is needed, young one. You are the ambassador to Mandalore. A culture who displays gifts to signify their alliances. By displaying the gift presented to you, you mark your duty and respect their ways as a Jedi Ambassador should.” Master Yaddle folded her hands in her lap. “Though I’m afraid I’ve come to speak to you of more unpleasant matters. Namely how things will proceed when we return to the temple.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan lifted his arms just slightly to feel the reassuring weight of the durasteel. “I assumed I would return to Master Jinn’s care?”

Master Yaddle frowned thoughtfully. “Not immediately. I will act as your master while you report the Council on your mission. Then you will be spending the night with Master Tholme and Padawan Vos, if that’s acceptable. I was informed by Padawan Aerin that you and Padawan Vos are close?”

“Yes. I’ve stayed the night with Padawan Vos and Master Tholme before.” Sometimes it was easier to just let a study session run too late and sleep in bed with Quin than go back to the rooms he shared with Master Qui-Gon. Master Tholme never minded and always made enough food for all three of them for firstmeal.

“Good. Master Tholme already volunteered to accommodate you for a few days. During that time, you, Master Jinn, Master Windu, and I will be discussing the change in conditions of your padawanship.” Yaddle looked at Obi-Wan as she spoke. There was a gravity in her bright green gaze that made Obi-Wan sit up straighter and listen. “Master Jinn acted inappropriately on your mission. He would face censure regardless of your involvement. That has nothing to do with you, Obi-Wan. However, the  _ Mand’alor _ required concessions before he allowed me to take you from his clan. It is the way of our Order to trust the Force to sort things out between master and padawan in most cases. Jaster Mereel was very clear in his opinion of that tradition. Thus, the first step will be deciding whether you will remain in the padawan room attached to Master Jinn’s quarters, or if it is better you move to the padawan dorms or the padawan quarters of another master. Once that’s decided, you will be spending some time with me. This will allow me to properly gauge your skillset so I can better advise you and assist Master Jinn in your training. We will all reconvene with Master Windu to discuss your schedule going forward once Master Jinn and I have reached an agreement on the nature of your training.”

Obi-Wan tried to look pensive, like he was thinking over his options instead of panicking. Master Qui-Gon always looked thoughtful when he was stalling for time during a negotiation. “I see,” he said calmly.

Master Yaddle smiled slightly. “There are no decisions to be made now. I wanted you to know what to expect so you aren’t unpleasantly surprised in the moment. Knowledge, even uncomfortable knowledge, can be a comfort in trying times.”

“Yes, master,” Obi-Wan agreed. There were a lot of things he’d wished he’d known before Melida/Daan no matter how the pointy edges dug into his mind.

“There is one part of your education Jaster mentioned he’d fallen short on.” Master Yaddle’s ears wiggled slightly in amusement. “When was the last time you mediated, padawan?”

Obi-Wan blushed. “Three days ago,” he admitted. Leaving Mandalore then going to get his saber back had been distracting. “Though, I’ve been doing my katas and ground exercises as moving meditation.”

“Which is well done and no substitute for practicing the traditional forms.” Master Yaddle folded up her legs and patted her knees briskly. “We will meditate for two hours,” she decided.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan folded up his own legs and turned to face Master Yaddle. “What am I meditating on, master?” he asked in resignation.

“I think a simple empty meditation will suffice,” she decided. “I will assist you as needed.”

Knight Kolar apologetically offered to train Obi-Wan in the jar’kai variations of shii-cho and soresu to help fill the hours between schoolwork and meditation. It helped burn off the restlessness itching beneath Obi-Wan’s skin after a month of spending most of his time with dirt beneath his feet, the sun blazing above him, and air that had never been recycled. Knight Kolar praised Obi-Wan’s stamina. Obi-Wan just smiled and didn’t tell him that he wouldn’t be alive if he hadn’t been able to outlast adults twice his size in a fight.

The  _ Radiant XI _ set down in one of the temple hangers ten days after Obi-Wan had left Mandalore. Knight Kolar had trimmed Obi-Wan’s ragged mop back into a tidy padawan cut and helped him redo his braid. Obi-Wan had changed out of his Mandalorian clothes and into the padawan whites Master Yaddle had brought with. Though he had to wear the belt and shoes Jaster had given since the boots and belt Master Yaddle brought had been based on his last measurements which the quartermaster had taken before Melida/Daan. Obi-Wan ignored Knight Kolar’s staring and wore his vambraces, hanging both of his lightsabers from his belt. So what if he looked like a soldier? Not so very long ago he had been. There were vibroblades and a blaster in the satchel over his shoulder just in case.

Half the High Council, as well as most of the Council of Reconciliation, seemed to be waiting for them in the hanger bay. Obi-Wan breathed out, releasing what anxiety he could into the Force, squashing what he couldn’t under his shields to pick apart later. He followed Master Yaddle down the ramp the prescribed five paces behind her on her right. Standing between Master Windu and Master Yoda was Master Qui-Gon.

“Master Yaddle, Padawan Kenobi.” The masters bowed to them. Obi-Wan followed Master Yaddle’s lead and bowed back. “How was Mandalore?” Master Windu asked. As always, Obi-Wan couldn’t tell if it was a simple question for if Master Windu was asking something else entirely.

“Hopeful,” Master Yaddle said serenely.

There was a noticeable ripple of discomfiture through the other masters. Master Windu’s and Master Yoda’s expressions remained indecipherable. “Padawan Kenobi,” Master Windu began. Obi-Wan braced himself not to react to whatever rebuke was coming next. There was a pause as Master Windu looked at him oddly then he finished, “It’s good to see you well.”

“Thank you, master,” Obi-Wan said promptly to cover his relief. At least the Councilors seemed to have decided to keep any scolding to the privacy of the Council Chambers this time.

Master Qui-Gon stepped forward, and when he spoke his voice quiet in a way Obi-Wan wasn’t used to hearing directed towards himself. “Padawan, I’m glad to see you.”

Obi-Wan didn’t ask. He walked forward into the waiting hand that settled itself reassuringly on his shoulder. Obi-Wan breathed out and leaned into his master’s support. “And I you, master.”

“Obi-Wan,” Master Yaddle said firmly. Obi-Wan reluctantly stepped back, breaking the contact, and returned to her side. “Master Jinn, I will be attending Obi-Wan’s debriefing with the Council. We will not require your presence until tomorrow as was discussed.”

“Invite, Master Jinn, I did,” Master Yoda replied. “See his padawan he wished to.”

“Understandable, and he will have plenty of time to speak to Padawan Kenobi tomorrow,” Master Yaddle said. She was somehow implaccable without changing her tone at all. “Obi-Wan, I see Master Tholme and Padawan Vos are already here. Go ahead and have Master Tholme show you where to put your things. Meet me at the turbolift for the southwest tower in an hour, and we will go to our debriefing with the rest of the Council.”

“Yes, master.” Obi-Wan hurried over to where Quinlan was practically vibrating out of his skin.

As soon as Obi-Wan was within arms reach, Quinlan was dragging him in for a hug. Obi-Wan didn’t protest like he usually would. Living with the culturally gregarious, at least among their clan, Mandalorians had inured Obi-Wan to being manhandled into displays of affection “You’re alive,” Quinlan whispered into Obi-Wan’s hair. His lanky arms squeezed Obi-Wan hard enough to restrict his breathing.

“I’m okay,” Obi-Wan promised, hugging Quinlan back. He reached out in the Force and found himself wrapped in Quinlan’s presence like a second layer of shielding. “Really, Quin. I’m fine. The people I was with were very kind.”

“You were taken by Mandalorians, Ben,” Quinlan snapped, rubbing his cheek against Obi-Wan’s freshly clipped hair like an oversized tooka. “I read about what they used to do to Jedi during the Mandalorian Wars.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “The Mandalorian Wars were a long time ago, Quin! Jango and his clan don’t have a grudge against the Jedi. No more than any being from a non-Republic would. I lived with Clan Mereel, the new  _ Mand’alor’s _ clan, and they treated me like all the other clan kids. It wasn’t that different from living in the initiate dorms except the food was better.”

“I’m glad to hear you were well treated, Padawan Kenobi,” Master Tholme said gently tugging Quinlan back before he smothered Obi-Wan to death. “We were worried about you.” Master Tholme was a big human man, nearly as tall as Master Qui-Gon but also much more reserved. His weathered, battle-scarred features and smooth, cool Force presence were very different from Master Qui-Gon’s volatility. Even other masters found him intimidating, but his dark gaze was warm when he guided Obi-Wan and Quinlan to the turbolift that would take them to the living quarters.

Master Tholme made tea while Obi-Wan put his satchel in Quinlan’s room. Knowing his friend's habit of being nosy, Obi-Wan hissed a few pointed threats about pranks and who’d been involved to keep Quinlan from pawing through his bag. Quinlan threw himself on his bed to sulk while Obi-Wan went to the fresher. When Obi-Wan returned, Quinlan sat up. “I want to touch those,” he said pointing at the vambraces.

“That’s not the best idea.” Quinlan’s gift for psychometry showed him the strongest psychic impressions left on an object. Very often that meant death and violence. “These were Jango’s before he grew out of them. He’s parents, his birth parents, were killed during the war. And he served as a commando with True Mandalorians.” Obi-Wan fingered the belt Jaster had given him. It wasn’t the kind of wax-coated leatheris gear Mandalorians wore with their armor. Any strong impressions associated with it would be when its previous owner was out of armor. The lingering residue was more likely to be calmer emotions about home and family. “What about the belt? I think that was Jango’s too, or maybe Arla’s.”

Before Obi-Wan had finished talking, Quinlan was yanking his gloves off and reaching for Obi-Wan's waist. Obi-Wan yelped in protest and grabbed for his belt like he was about to be pantsed. Quinlan tackled him. They ended on the floor with Quinlan pinning Obi-Wan down, one his hands wrapped around Obi-Wan’s belt, while Obi-Wan had his arms around Quinlan’s throat in a headlock.

Quinlan froze as his Force presence smoothed to glassy stillness. Obi-Wan shifted his grip to support his friend concerned he’d misjudged the belt’s history. When Quinlan opened his eyes, he was shaking a little. He wrapped himself around Obi-Wan but not tussling this time. Obi-Wan tugged gently on a dreadlock to comfort him. “What did you see, Quin?”

“The person who touched this loved you,” Quinlan said softly. “He loves like the stars burn.”

“I told you it belonged to Arla or Jango,” Obi-Wan said only a little impatiently poking his friend. “Jaster probably gave it to them. He’s their adoptive father.”

Quinlan shook his head. “No. They love you, Ben.”

Obi-Wan didn’t roll his eyes because Quinlan seemed almost upset by whatever he’d sensed. “I am, was, sort of a member of their clan, Quin. They take family very seriously. That’s all.” He squeezed the bigger boy as hard as he could to ground him.

*******

Reporting to the Council with Master Yaddle was much less fraught than the few times Obi-Wan had done it with Master Qui-Gon. Master Yaddle reported on what she’d seen of Mandalore while perched on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Then Obi-Wan rattled off the verbal report Master Yaddle had helped him organize on their trip back from Mandalore. Obi-Wan braced for the harsh, demanding questions he’d come to expect after Melida/Daan. Every time he went in front of the Council he had to prove again he was dedicated to becoming a Jedi. Whatever bitterness he felt about their doubts he’d buried deep enough it wouldn’t bother Master Qui-Gon back at the beginning.

This time, Master Windu stood up. Obi-Wan didn’t move since movement drew attention. Master Yaddle’s claws ran through his short hair as the warmth of her presence cradled him like he needed steadying. “Padawan Kenobi,” Master Windu asked gently, “why didn’t you ask  _ Mand’alor _ Mereel to contact the temple?”

Obi-Wan tried to look calm and collected while he clamped down hard on his shields to make sure nothing slipped out. “Master Qui-Gon told me to wait for him to retrieve me. Until then I was to do as Jaster told me within reason. Jaster offered to return me to the temple but was delayed. I apologize, Master Windu. I should have contacted the temple or insisted he return me sooner.” Obi-Wan inclined his head since he couldn’t bow with Yaddle on his shoulder. “I will meditate on my failure and on how I might improve in the future.” Obi-Wan knew he could have insisted Jaster return him. It had just been so much easier to stay with Jango, to be  _ Ob’ika _ , and trust Jaster to sort things out. Obi-Wan couldn’t let the Council know he’d failed again. He might meditate until his knees were bloody but still wouldn’t let slip how conflicted he’d been about returning. Not even Master Yoda had been able to sense things Obi-Wan didn’t want him to since he’d come back from Melida/Daan.

Master Windu frowned. “Padawan Kenobi, you didn’t fail.”

“Of course, Master,” Obi-Wan replied obediently.

“Padawan…” To Obi-Wan’s shock, Master Windu put a hand on the shoulder Master Yaddle wasn’t perched on. “Your shielding is very impressive. Master Jinn must be proud.”

Obi-Wan shifted his weight before he could stop himself. All of his instincts screamed to move away from a much bigger, dangerous adult. He knew Master Windu wouldn’t hurt him. No one here would hurt him, but Obi-Wan had gotten used to older commandos of Clan Mereel who knew not to crowd or grab without clearly telegraphing intent.

Master Windu immediately stepped back letting his hand drop from Obi-Wan’s shoulder. His frown deepened. “Apologies, Padawan Kenobi. I didn’t mean to discomfort you.”

“I wasn’t in the least,” Obi-Wan lied. He knew his shields were good enough to conceal the fib. No one had noticed before. “You just startled me, master.” He bobbed as much of a bow as he could manage without disrupting Master Yaddle.

“Remain, you will, Master Yaddle,” Yoda interrupted the strangely intense gaze Master Windu had turned on Obi-Wan. “Concerned Pawadan Kenobi’s friends have been. See that he is well they should.”

Master Yaddle humphed but patted Obi-Wan’s arm to indicate he should help her down. “Try not to let Padawan Vos convince you to cause too much trouble, Obi-Wan. I will see you tomorrow.”

Obi-Wan dipped down so Master Yaddle could hop gracefully off his elbow to the floor. “Yes, master.” He bowed to the rest of the Council, properly now since he didn’t have Master Yaddle using him as a raised seat, and went through the formalities of being dismissed. It looked like he would be able to escape without being interrogated about his vambraces or his second lightsaber. He wasn’t going to question his good fortune.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really happy with this chapter, but there's stuff going on Obi-Wan is too young and in his own head to notice. So... Here we are.

“Thank you Padawan Kenobi,” Mace said formally. Padawan Kenobi bowed. His braid was tucked behind his ear and tied back with his nerf tail. Combined with his armored bracers and the smattering of non-Jedi attire, it reminded Mace sickeningly of the boy’s return from Melida/Daan. The Force had been merciful this time though. Padawan Kenobi was tanned, his shoulders straight instead of hunched and furtive, and his cheeks round with health promising a growth spurt rather than gaunt with hunger. The Mandalorians had been as good as their word. Padawan Kenobi showed all signs of having been well cared for.

Maybe it was the obvious evidence of care that made Padawan Kenobi’s wariness more obvious. The boy’s expression was pleasantly placid, but, when Mace watched closely, he could see Kenobi tracking all the members of the Council in his peripheral vision even as he exited the chamber. There wasn’t so much as a ripple in the Force to indicate that Kenobi was as on edge as any young knight fresh from a stint on the Outer Rim. Kenobi’s hands never strayed to his weapons, but Mace could see the desire in the set of his shoulders when he turned his back recognizable only by Mace’s long experience in the salle with other masters.

Yaddle was right. Kenobi’s ability to shield himself was staggeringly disproportionate to his age and skill level. If Mace had been focused on the Force instead of the purely physical microexpressions Kenobi was making he would have never noticed the complete disparity between the boy’s Force presence and his actual emotional state. Hell, if Mace hadn’t also been human he didn’t like the odds he’d recognize the purely physical tics Kenobi didn’t quite manage to hide.

“Well this is a bloody mess,” Even Piell noted grimly once the doors shut behind the boy. “Mace?”

“I agree with Master Yaddle. Kenobi’s shields aren’t durasteel. They’re kriffing cortsis,” Mace said settling back in his own chair and rubbing his temples. “He was acting like a knight in hostile territory not a padawan. If I saw him in the salle, I’d send him to meditate before he accidentally sliced up a fellow knight. Not that you could tell by anything but the way he was holding himself. I’d never think to look for it in a padawan. Also, Master Yaddle, I don’t appreciate being used to frighten a child.”

Yaddle inclined her head in acceptance of the criticism. “My apologies, Master Windu. You were simply the closest to the profile of human or near-human with an aggressive or militaristic presence who was not already familiar to Padawan Kenobi. His reaction to you would most clearly display the behaviors Jaster Mereel noted. He will acclimatize to your presence as you spend more time with him. On Mandalore, I saw him interacting quite comfortably with a number of grown warriors from Clan Mereel.”

Mace gritted his teeth and nodded. He didn’t want to be another monster for Padawan Kenobi to fear. Only fourteen and Kenobi had seen more of the dark parts of the galaxy than many knights. The majority of which the Council had been unaware of thanks to Jinn’s informal approach to reporting. An issue Mace planned on having a personal discussion with the man about beyond the lecture he’d already received. The fact Jinn hadn’t informed anyone of the true scale of Kenobi’s involvement in the violent war on Melida/Daan was unconscionable. Kenobi should have been temple-bound with a weekly session with a mindhealer rather than on active, high risk missions. That didn’t even touch on whatever the sithhells had happened on Bandomeer which was apparently not as benign as Kenobi sneaking away from the AgriCorp facility and finding trouble as Jinn had implied.

“It seems obvious that Master Jinn’s interpretation of Padawan Kenobi’s issues as being based on his struggles to control his anxieties and an inability to focus on the Living Force are misguided,” Plo Koon said evenly. However, there was an edge to the usually pleasant and even-tempered master. “There are more senior padawans less skilled in those areas than Padawan Kenobi even based solely on his remarkably… understated report.”

Mace winced, because Kenobi’s report had somehow managed to never directly address the fact his master had traded away Kenobi’s lightsaber then Kenobi himself to a Mandalorian bounty hunter. Kenobi hadn’t even mentioned his new lightsaber and the corrupted kyber crystal he’d managed to heal despite the impressive nature of the feat. Jinn’s skill in diplomacy and wordsmithing, at least, seemed to be rubbing off his unfortunate padawan. Even if Kenobi’s use of those skills seemed to be focused on minimizing himself as much as possible.

“Guided by the Force Master Jinn’s apprenticing of Padawan Kenobi was,” Yoda reminded Koon sharply. “Powerful is their bond.”

“Yes,” Mace noted dryly, “so powerful Kenobi has learned to shield his true emotions completely while projecting a neutral facade to conceal his reactions in the Force.”

Yoda’s ears drooped. “True this is. Concerned I am by this as well, Master Windu.”

“Concerned you may be, but nothing you have done, Master Yoda.” Yaddle laced her fingers together in her lap. “As clever and headstrong as Padawan Kenobi is, he is still a child. A child in need of more protection than this Council has provided. Our agreement with the  _ Mand’alor _ is clear. It is Padawan Kenobi’s needs, not our traditions nor our desire to interpret the Will of the Force, that must guide us going forward. Unless this Council would like to test the  _ Mand’alor’s _ sincerity about coming to collect a member of his clan he feels isn’t being provided for?”

Mace glared at Yarael Poof, daring the very conservative master to say something. “I believe I speak for all of the masters here when I say we would prefer not to anger Mandalore so soon after reopening diplomatic channels with them.”

Oppo Rancisis, who had been Yaddle’s padawan himself once upon a time, spoke up. “Regarding that, Master Yaddle. I have some questions about the political situation on Mandalore.”

The change in topic was gratefully taken up by other Councillors. Mace didn’t blame them. Piell wasn’t wrong calling the whole situation a bloody mess. It wasn’t often the Council had to get involved in the relationship between a master and a padawan. The fact they were being forced to intervene between Jinn and Kenobi when less than a year ago Dooku, Jinn’s old master, and his current padawan, Komari Vossa, had been in front of the Council for their own issues weighed heavily on everyone's minds.


	8. Chapter 8

Jango turned the scrambler key over in his hand before plugging it into the small holocomm he’d borrowed from Walon Vau in ‘trade’ for extra jetpacks training. It’d only been two standard weeks since Obi-Wan had returned to the Jedi. The first official date for Jango to make contact with Obi-Wan wasn’t for another two weeks, but  _ Buir _ had given Jango and Obi-Wan paired scrambler units for a reason. As long as they both had a holonet signal and a comm unit, they could leave each other messages no one else would be able to decrypt.

Setting up the holocomm, Jango leaned back against the wall. He’d chosen the Royal Archives, back in the stacks which were in ancient Mando’a, for privacy. The holocomm whirred to life recording. Jango took his helmet off but left the rest of his  _ beskar’gam _ where it was. “ _ Su’cuy _ ,  _ Ob’ika _ . I know our first official call isn’t for awhile, but it’s been twelve days since you left. I miss you. Silas and Myles are still switching off training with me. Walon Vau has been making up our fourth even though he’s older. Arla says hello. She’s going to Vanquo along with a squadron of Protector trainees to clear out some raiders who’ve holed up in one of the old mining complexes.  _ Buir _ just announced it’s their graduation exam. If they succeed then they’ll be Mandalorian Protectors. I don’t know how your light-side Force works, but if you could send some Arla’s way I know she’d appreciate it.”

Jango leaned his cheek against his gauntlet. “I took notes for you on astronav and attached them to this message.  _ Buir _ says you have actual instructors at your temple not just educational modules and droid tutors. Which… How are you so bad at astronav,  _ Ob’ika _ ? Don’t get all hunched up and weird about it. You can’t be perfect at everything no matter what the other  _ jetiise _ say. Make sure your instructors at the temple don’t ignore the Mando’a modules  _ Buir _ sent. We can practice when you comm me. How are your ground exercises going? You should record them and send them to me so I can make sure you’re doing full extensions since your range should be increasing.”

“Remember that datachip in the same box as those broken holocrons we found? One of the archivists managed to recover the files on it. I’ve been translating them for my history credits. It’s a story about Tarre Vizsla’s padawan. I don’t know if they’re real or if it's some kind of historical fiction novel. Maybe you could check the archive at your temple and see if they have any records of Tarre Vizsla having an apprentice? The files don’t give a name. Vizsla just calls them  _ Myrdalu _ , which is an old way of saying ‘clever’. However, back then a lot of Mandalorians wouldn’t remove their helmet in front of anyone except their spouse and clan. The really traditional ones didn’t use their names outside their clans so Vizsla might have been protecting his  _ ad _ .” Jango gave the comm his most charming smile. “I’ll send you my translation when it's finished, but I made sure to record some of the highlights for you since whoever wrote the files had some strange ideas about  _ jetiise _ . Hopefully it’ll be good for a laugh.”

“Anyways, you should send me a message back when you get this. And holos of your temple if you have them. I want to see those ‘thousand fountains’ you like so much. The scrambler keys will work all the files in the comm message so don’t worry about that. Stay alive and hunt well,  _ Ob’ika _ . Don’t forget about me now that you’re back in the Core.”

**********

Obi-Wan sat at his new desk with the holocomm Master Nu had given him clipped to one of the shelves so it would record all of his head and most of his torso. He’d left off his outer tunic, in favor of his sleeveless undershirt, since the room he shared with Bant was warm and humid to keep her comfortable. He slipped the scrambler key out of its hidden slot in his left vambrace and plugged it into the holocomm. Biting his lip, he hit the button to start the holocomm recording waiting for the quiet beep to indicate it was working.

“ _ Su’cuy, Jan’ika _ . I’m still alive as you can see. Even though Master Drallig and Master Giett have decided to double my ground exercises since the improvements in my core strength have helped with my katas. You’ll be happy to know I moved out of Master Qui-Gon’s quarters and into the padawan dorms. I live with my friend Bant, who I told you about. She’s Mon Cal and her master, Master Tahl, is near-human. Bant needs a different climate than Master Tahl to be comfortable. It’s humid in our room, but I don’t mind. We have our own salt water pool attached to our quarters which we only share with two other padawans. So I can soak my bruises after training without having to use a public pool.”

“I borrowed Master Tholme’s holocam and took holos of the Room of a Thousand Fountains for you. Siri, Quinlan, Garen, Reeft, Luminara, and Bant helped. I included a picture of all of us so you’d know what they look like. Can you send me holos of you, Arla, Jaster, Silas, and Myles next time you leave a message? Bant wants to know what you look like too. She took footage of my ground exercises yesterday so you can double-check my extensions. I have noticed an increased range of motion just like you said.”

“I’ve been meditating on Arla during my evening meditation sessions. I don’t know if it’ll help, but it can’t hurt. Thank you for the astronav notes. I’m much more confident about my next test. I included my notes on the recent history of the Republic with this message since I know you hate those modules. I made sure to focus on the things that are important to you and Mandalore. The Council decided the Mando’a modules Jaster gave me count towards my language credits. So I now officially have to work on them. It also means any of our conversations that happen in Mando’a count as studying.”

“Master Nu is helping me look into who left the Order with Tarre Vizsla to try and identify any possible padawans he might have had. Unfortunately, the ancient records are incomplete. If you find any more details about  _ Myrdalu _ please send them to me. It could help us narrow down possibilities from changes in the annual census. From what you’ve already sent, I think  _ Myrdalu _ was a real person even if the files you’re working with are a fictionalized version of their exploits. Some of the more fantastical descriptions sound like feats which are performed by Jedi strong in the Unifying Force to this day. Unusual, yes, but certainly not impossible.”

Obi-Wan hesitated, fiddling with his padawan braid, but no one else except Jango would see this message. “I miss you too,  _ Jan’ika _ , and I certainly am not going to forget you. I’m glad to be with my friends at the temple again, but it's not the same as spending time with you. Master Qui-Gon has been strange since I’ve returned. He apologized for how I ended up with you and Jaster, and I think he really meant it. Because of Melida/Daan, I was on probation still before our last mission. I was only allowed to leave our quarters for training and classes. My schedule is completely different now. I only train with Master Qui-gon three days a week. Other masters supervise my training the other two days. And Master Yaddle oversees all my coursework except for diplomacy and history which Master Qui-Gon still helps me with. I’m also officially off probation. I just wish I knew if Master Qui-Gon is as happy about the change as I am.”

“I know we’re supposed to talk in a week, but I didn’t want to put off returning your message until then. Tell Arla and Jaster I’ve been thinking of them. Silas and Myles too. Also, the food at the temple doesn’t taste of anything to me anymore. Is it possible to get Mandalorian sauces in the Core? If you have a suggestion please let me know. Good hunting,  _ Jan’ika _ , and stay safe.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's something of a time skip in here. I tried to write the fill in, but it was getting stressful. Since this story was supposed to be opposite of that, have the beginning of what's referred to in the outline as 'Act 2'. Hopefully I'll have the second chapter I mean to put out done tomorrow. If not, here's what I got.

Master Windu was waiting in the archive room Obi-Wan rented once a week for his independent study. Master Yaddle had arranged for his research into Myrladu to be counted towards his academic hours. So Obi-Wan no longer had to beg resources from Madame Nu but could officially request them.

Obi-Wan’s research into Tarre Vizsla and Myrladu had raised concerns about Mandalore’s historic connection with the Sith. Jaster, however, was insistent that Tarre Vizsla had lived and died a Jedi. Master Windu had volunteered to join Obi-Wan on his expeditions into the secure parts of the archive to monitor the situation when Obi-Wan was dealing with any artifacts. Today they were going to look at some scrolls supposedly written by Tarre Vizsla and his agemates, calligraphy exercises which involved copying works of a Jedi philosopher of the student’s choice. Vizsla’s selected reading material could give Obi-Wan a clue about what kind of padawan he would have been drawn towards.

“Good morning, Master Windu,” Obi-Wan said conscientiously, bowing politely. Master Windu was accompanied by his own padawan who was near enough to her own knighting she was often out on solo missions. “Padawan Billaba.”

Depa Billaba smiled brightly at him. “Hello, Padawan Kenobi. It’s nice to finally meet you!” Gold glinted at her forehead and between her eyes. It looked like some kind of cultural decoration.

“Depa enjoys studying Force traditions from around the galaxy,” Master Windu said gruffly. “I thought she might be of more use to you today than me, Padawan Kenobi.” He lifted a datapad in illustration. “I’ll be working. If you have any questions or concerns, Depa can comm me.”

Obi-Wan hesitated, glancing at the older padawan. She was Master Windu’s apprentice so Master Qui-Gon couldn’t fuss about Obi-Wan risking coming into contact with the Dark side without proper guidance. However, he knew rumors had run wild among other padawans after Melida/Daan and his stint on Mandalore. His friends at least gave him the benefit of the doubt. Most of the other padawans still treated him like he was diseased, to be pitied and avoided. Senior padawans tended to be too busy to care about temple rumor though.

Padawan Billaba certainly didn’t seem bothered by the fact she’d be spending at least until lunch with a nearly failed junior padawan. “I read your project outline,” she said instead, eager. “It’s a shame that the Mandalorians seem to know more about a very famous knight and padawan pair than we do. The fact Vizsla and his padawan may have developed a whole variant Jedi tradition integrating Mandalorian culture… Well, with the homogenizing of Jedi culture to Coruscant norms we’ve lost so much of ourselves.”

Obi-Wan found himself smiling at her unabashed eagerness to unearth their lost history even if it involved their traditional enemy. “Jan’ika, that is Jango Fett of House Mereel, found records in the archive at Keldabe that indicate Vizsla might have brought more than just his apprentice with him to Mandalore. Some of his friends from the temple might have come with as well. Though it’s not clear.”

“So they were a proper sect,” Padawan Billaba said, dark eyes sparkling with the joy of a mystery.

“A religious sect is very antithetical to what a ‘good’ Mandalorian would be. It’d be more likely that any Jedi who remained with Vizsla were part of his clan and practiced a shared, familial culture. Whether they instructed people outside the clan in the Force or adopted Force sensitives into the clan as necessary is unknown at this point.” Obi-Wan pulled out his own datapad and brought up his personal notes. He passed it over to Padawan Billaba. “Based on Mandalorian stories about Tarre Vizsla, pre-Excision versions of course, Vizsla was sent to the Jedi after he lost his clan due to inter-tribal conflict. His connection with the Force was out of control. Without friends or family to help him center himself, the Jedi were considered the best alternative for Vizsla.”

Padawan Bilbaba quickly flipped through Obi-Wan’s notes. “How old was he when he arrived at the temple?”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “There’s conflicting details there. Jedi archival records make him seem very young, not much older than a toddler. However, it’s Jango’s opinion, based on the pieces of armor sent with Vizsla and traditional tattooing recorded on his intake record, that Vizsla was at least ten, maybe as old as twelve. Madame Nu, of course, insists the archival records are infallible. But I think that during the Mandalorian Wars the records might have been altered to hide the fact Tarre Vizsla was an older child who was taken in and trained by the Order with full knowledge of his cultural background and the understanding he would return to Mandalore after his training.”

“But why?” Padawan Billaba asked though she didn’t sound disbelieving. “If that was the case, then why hide it?”

With a glance at Master Windu, Obi-Wan hedged, “For many reasons. Political probably. I’m inclined to go with Jango’s estimate of Vizsla’s age. It means that he was in his mid-twenties when he left the Order for Mandalore, not a teenager. It fits the timeline of him being knighted at the average age for humans and selecting a padawan after a few years.”

“And this padawan is who you’re trying to find?” Padawan Billaba asked.

“Yes. We’re calling them Myrladu, but that’s just their master’s nickname for them.” Obi-Wan accepted the datapad back from Padawan Billaba. “The scrolls we’re looking for date to the time we think Vizsla was a senior padawan. Based on what I was able to find on Jedi cultural norms of the time, he most likely would have already known Myrladu was going to be his padawan. There might be some clues as to their identity.”

“Sounds like fun.” Padawan Billaba pulled out her own datapad. “Lead the way, Padawan Kenobi.”

They plunged into the dusty, old storerooms together. Most of the Jedi Archives existed as holocrons and datachips in the brightly lit rooms of the main archive with their high windows. These back rooms were for objects too boring to be displayed in the crystalline cases in the main archives, or texts which had already been copied onto datachips. It also housed, Obi-Wan had learned, artifacts from the more uncomfortable parts of Jedi history.

Obi-Wan didn’t understand why Revan’s mask or uniforms from the Army of the Light were left to sit in the dark. Even the lightsabers of the masters involved in the negotiation of the Ruusan Reformation weren’t displayed where the wider temple could see them. Madame Nu said many of the things in the store rooms had once been on display in the public areas of the temple for anyone to come see. Over the years, they’d been ordered put away by various councils and committees.

Padawan Billaba lingered over the brassy armor plating of the uniforms as they passed the dummies in their neat rows. “They look like soldiers,” she marveled peering into the shadows beneath the helmet.

Obi-Wan bit back that this empty armor looked like the museum display it was. He’d seen lines of Mandalorians in full armor during parade ground inspections. The lifeless dummies were missing the sense of alertness and carefully coiled violence that marked a Mandalorian commando. “They were,” he said instead, “our soldiers. Back before the Ruusan Reformation.”

“Oh.” Padawan Billlaba stared some more before nodding to let Obi-Wan know they could go deeper in the storerooms.

The luma strips in the far rooms where old flimsi scrolls of student work were kept glowed with only a dim yellowish light. They weren’t meant to be more than emergency illumination. Obi-Wan turned on his own handlight going to the rack with labelled with the appropriate dates. Padawan Billaba was distracted by the racks of holocrons on the other side of the room.

“Most of those are lightsaber training examples,” Obi-Wan told her while he started to dig through the scrolls. “Further down are history and philosophy lectures. You can open them up like any normal holocron. These are just backup copies of the ones in the main archive.”

Padawan Billaba thanked him for the advice and wandered down the racks looking for an interesting holocron to open. Obi-Wan started digging through the preserved flimsi, using his light to illuminate the tops of the sheet where the class and the name of the student were written. He scanned the most promising candidates with his datapad since his Old Republic Aurebesh wasn’t good enough to do complete translations on the fly.

Obi-Wan was swinging over a second rack with Padawan Billaba returned. She was frowning down at a holocron. “Padawan Kenobi,” she said, “does this holocron feel strange to you?”

Locking the rack into place, Obi-Wan turned to hover his hand over the holocron. It did feel odd, weightier than the reference holocrons Madame Nu had taught him how to use. The Force bent around it like the gravity distorting around a black hole. “Put it down,” Obi-Wan said sharply, forgetting for a moment that the girl was more senior than him. “If it’s broken the power system could be unstable.”

Padawan Billaba, without her usual grace, hurried to set the holocron on a nearby table. It was too close to the edge. As she pulled her hands away it tumbled off. Instinctively, Obi-Wan reached out with Force to catch it. He dreaded what Madame Nu would do to them if they smashed an ancient holocron no matter if it was already broken.

The crystal in Obi-Wan’s shoto, resilient but wary, screamed a warning. The Force ripped. The distortion around the holocron became a sucking void, a blackhole with nothing in the center. Obi-Wan had both his lightsabers in his hands. He didn’t ignite them. This was an archival storeroom. Padawan Billaba was a step behind him. She put a hand on his shoulder, and her warm strength forced back the searing cold.

“Call Master Windu,” Obi-Wan said through gritted teeth as a black nothingness in the shape of a humanoid rose up from a pool of shadow on the floor where the holocron had fallen. His healed crystal wailed but didn’t shatter. The room was so dark Obi-Wan was having trouble seeing anything more than movement stalking towards them. Padawan Billaba’s voice was strangely muffled as the void rippled and a sound like someone snarling underwater buzzed in Obi-Wan’s ears. He ignited his sabers, holding them up to cast the blue light further.

The void paused. Then the distorted, watery voice distinctly snarled, “Mando.” The screams of a dying world pulsed in the word.

Obi-Wan bared his teeth, thought of Jango, and snarled back. “Dar’jetii.”

The void laughed. Obi-Wan had seen the corpse of a flayed man on Melida/Daan. He’d probably been dead before his corpse was mutilated, at least that’s what Obi-Wan had always chosen to believe. As the pulsating, resonant noise rolled across him, Obi-Wan thought he could feel the vibroblade under his skin, just starting to peel back the first strip to reveal the glisten red and pink beneath.

It was a bad choice for a mindtrick. Obi-Wan had gotten very good at releasing physical pain into the Force. He ignored the itchy sensations of blood running down his arms and slid into the opening position of Soresu. The tip of his saber hovered less than a meter from the void pointing at where it’s neck would be.

Pawadan Billaba was panting open-mouth. Her fingers dug into Obi-Wan’s shoulders as the Sith phantom battered the shields she was trying to wrap around both herself and Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan was grateful for her efforts since it gave him enough space to realize the horrible noises, screaming metal or screaming people, were words. The Sith, because this gash in the Force could be nothing else, was monologuing.

For a moment, Obi-Wan heard a different voice. They’d been in one of the heated pools to loosen up after a spar. It had been just the immediate Mereel family and Obi-Wan. Arla had been complaining about another Protector talking during combat training while Jaster patiently untangled her brassy hair, sweat soaked and knotted from being crammed under a helmet too quickly. Jaster had told her, “There’s two kinds of talking during a fight. The first kind is a distraction, just dust in your eyes. Be wary of that. But if they’re talking to make themselves feel better about how much better they are than you…” He’d given them all the wolf grin he shared with Arla and Jango, “Fast, silent, and straight for the soft spots, ad’ike.”

Obi-Wan lunged for where the holocron had been dropping to his knees and sliding the last meter as he swept out with his full length saber. If he destroyed the holocron the Void wouldn’t be able to get to Padawan Billaba. The void stopped speaking. It turned, and Obi-Wan could feel the blades of ice stabbing into his chest as it stared at him.

“Obi-Wan!” Padawan Billaba’s shriek came from far away as Obi-Wan rolled to the side to dodge the amorphous limb the void extended towards his face. He needed a plan. He needed the Sith as far away from Master Windu’s beloved padawan as possible. Master Windu was coming so there was no way this thing was escaping out into the temple. Obi-Wan just had to distract it from Padawan Billaba until he arrived.

“Dar’jetii,” Obi-Wan said again though his voice wavered more than he liked. He swallowed, unable to shape the word ‘Sith’. Instead, he spat a word Jaster hadn’t wanted him to know but some of the other commandos had taught him anyways. “Hu’tuun.” If the Sith didn’t like Mandalorians then Obi-Wan would do his best impression of Jango.

The void lunged. Obi-Wan barely got his sabers up in time to deflect something that looked like tentacles. He was gasping for air even though he could feel it tearing apart his lungs like the cold emptiness of space. Forcing down the fear, not releasing like a Jedi should but ignoring it out of necessity, Obi-Wan switched his stance into the Ataru form Master Qui-Gon was trying to teach him. The void screamed in fury as Obi-Wan flipped over it. His sabers passed through the space where a head would be but didn’t do any obvious damage.

With a hiss that sounded like metal grating on metal, the void spoke. Obi-Wan only knew it was addressing him because he could pick out a few instances of ‘Mando’. It seemed Jango’s vambraces were distinctively Mandalorian enough even an ancient Sith could recognize their origins and outweighed the presence of his blue lightsabers. The void lifted its hands. A red light extended from them. Obi-Wan hadn’t seen a red-bladed lightsaber before Jaster’s, and that blade hadn’t been corrupted so much as hurt.

The void’s red lightsaber was a projection. There was no kyber crystal to sense. Which was why Obi-Wan started when he went sideways to avoid a downward slash and the red blade left a blackened gouge in the floor. For a precious second, Obi-Wan stared at the mark. A brilliant yellow-green blade stopped the void from impaling Obi-Wan through the thigh. Padawan Billaba, her dark face gone chalky, was wide-eyed as she fell back into an opening niman stance. Red, green, and blue made everything eerily dreamlike as shadows that were too deep consumed any other illumination in the room.

Obi-Wan backed up with Padawan Billaba. It was all they could do to stay out of each other’s way. Their masters used very different lightsaber forms, and Padawan Billaba didn’t even use Master Windu’s Vapaad but Soresu. They also fought with their masters differently. Padawan Billaba guarded Master Windu’s flank while Obi-Wan was used to fighting independently from his master to thin out the number of opponents while Master Qui-Gon focused on the primary threat. They were poorly suited for fighting together.

The void wasn’t so hampered. It came at them so quickly the single red blade seemed like many. Obi-Wan threw himself forward to keep Padawan Billaba’s defense from being overwhelmed. He realized he’d made a mistake even as he sheared through ‘hilt’ of the red lightsaber. A limb-like protrusion made of nothingness continued on straight through his chest.

Ice started to form in his chest climbing up his throat. There were claws digging into his brain like his mental shields didn’t exist. That horrible, reverberating hiss whispered in his mind. “So little raw power for such potential. I could use such an apprentice. What say you, child? Do you not wish a master who wants you?”

The words felt slimy as they crawled through Obi-Wan. He shuddered, black spots appearing in the edges of his vision as the ice kept him from drawing another breath. The void’s avarice was all consuming. It wanted Obi-Wan. All he had to do was agree, and it would give him what he needed.

A voice that sounded very much like Jaster’s murmured sardonically in Obi-Wan’s ear, “Of course impossible promises means they absolutely have the upper hand.”

Obi-Wan felt the weight of the vambraces on his arms. His lightsabers had been deactivated somehow despite the switches being in the on position. The dark was everywhere, and as Obi-Wan stared into it a face started to form. Obi-Wan gathered up the shreds of himself, forcing one breath than another. He’d endured worse.

The void made a noise like hyperdrive about it overload. It was meant to be a croon. “Such determination. What say you, young mando? Join me and you will have everything you want.”

In a move Arla had taught him for dealing with the bigger clan kids who played too rough, Obi-Wan roared defiance and head-butted the void’s face with everything he had. It went backwards. Obi-Wan followed using his lightsaber hilts like he’d seen the adult commandos use weighted gauntlets to put more power into their blows. It wasn’t rage that burned through his muscles forcing back the ice. He was too scared to be angry. Obi-Wan would not let this thing use him to hurt his clan.

He punched, kicked, and bit. Exactly like his Mandalorian instructors had encouraged him to. Mandalorians had martial forms just like the Jedi did, but they also taught clan kids that the only wrong move you could make in a real fight was one that caused you to lose. Go for the eyes, knee the genitals, hammer blows into the stomach and lungs. Nothing was off limits when you were trying to survive.

Obi-Wan tore at the void, pulling off handfuls of nothingness like he was tearing fabric. His ears were filled with the sound of shredding, screaming metal. His mouth tasted like rot where he’d bitten down on a bit of the void that tried to poke into his head. Still, he ground his teeth in deeper and yanked like he was trying to pull a stubborn bit of roast shatual off the bone.

The void yowled.

Obi-Wan went flying backwards. He hit the wall hard enough his ears popped. As he fell forward to the floor he saw a glimpse of purple. Master Windu had finally arrived. Padawan Billaba would be fine. Obi-Wan let the blackness take him.

**********

Mace deactivated the holocron with a surge of Dark-tinged will. The Sith holocron clattered to the floor, an innocuous looking black and gold pyramid once more. He kept his lightsaber in the guard position just in case. “Depa?”

“He’s not breathing, master.” Depa had carefully rolled Padawan Kenobi onto his side and was supporting his neck. The boy was bleeding from the nose, eyes, mouth, ears, and his nail beds. His lips were tinged blue beneath the coppery blood like his mouth was frostbitten.

“Comm the Healers,” Mace ordered his Padawan. “Can you check if his neck is broken?”

“No, master,” Depa’s voice caught tremulously. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, young one. Just get a healer.” Mace wasn’t surprised Depa couldn’t find the concentration to use the Force to check on Padawan Kenobi. The Darkness still hanging in the air made Mace’s stomach churn unpleasantly. He looked around and saw one of the stasis cases Jocasta Nu used to store delicate artifacts. It would do for the moment.   
  
Mace grabbed the holocron with the Force and heaved it to the case, locking it and turning on the stasis field with a flick of his fingers. Only then did he deactivate his lightsaber and turn to the padawans on the floor.

Depa had Padawan Kenobi’s head resting on her knees as she spoke into her comm. Her hand hovered over the boy’s chest using small manipulations in the Force to keep his heart pumping. Mace touched her shoulder then moved his hand just above hers taking the delicate compressions. “What happened?” he asked when Depa put the comm down.

“He was trying to protect me. Master, what was that thing?” Depa said carefully starting to dab at the blood on Kenobi’s face.

“It was a Sith holocron. A nasty one. It shouldn’t have been in this part of the archives. Where did you find it?” Mace asked to distract Depa from the dying boy.

Depa gestured at the racks of educational holocrons. “With the others. It was the only pyramid so I brought it to show Obi-Wan. When I held it, it made me feel strange. Obi-Wan told me to put it down. I think he sensed something was wrong. It started to fall, and we both tried to catch it with the Force. Then…” Her breath caught.

“I understand, my padawan,” Mace reassured her. “There was no way you could have known what you’d picked up. Sith artifacts are often traps for the unwary. The important thing is neither you nor Obi-Wan gave in to the Dark.”

The door to the room slammed open. Jocasta Nu sprinted in, skirts held up above her knees, followed by Plo Koon. “We heard on the comms,” Nu said urgently. “The children…”

“Che’s on her way. We’re keeping Kenobi’s beating until she gets here. Depa, were you harmed?” Mace hadn’t felt anything over the teaching bond, but Depa had enough control she could hide minor injuries if she felt it necessary.

“No. Obi-Wan protected me,” she insisted again to the other masters. “He wouldn’t let it hurt me.”

“What did this?” Nu demanded as Plo came over and rested a steadying hand on Depa’s shoulder.

Mace jerked his head at the stasis case. “Sith holocron. I shoved it in there for the moment.”

Plo was helping Depa release her fear into the Force, a difficult task with the stink of the Dark side still lingering. “A holocron did this to the boy?” he asked Mace gravely as he monitored her quick meditation.

“It seems so.” Mace grimaced as more blood spurted from Kenobi’s nose when he pressed down on the boy’s heart too quickly. The healers needed hurry.

As if summoned by the Force, the newly knighted Vokara Che came into the room dragging a hovergurney behind her and accompanied by a medical droid. She looked down at Padawan Kenobi. “Move!”

Mace grabbed Depa and got her out of the way as the healer slammed her hand down onto the center of Kenobi’s thin chest. The boy’s body spasmed horribly then he gasped in a breath. “Get him on the gurney,” Che ordered the droid briskly. “I’ll report our findings as soon as we have any, Master Windu.”

“Will Obi-Wan be okay?” Depa asked, clinging to sleeve of Mace’s robe.

“He’s young, strong, and you kept his blood moving. It’s a good start, padawan.” Che gave Mace’s apprentice a small smile. “There’s good reason to hope.” She nodded to Mace then guided the gurney with its too small burden out of the room.   


“Master Windu,” Nu said sharply, “ a moment if you please.”

Depa gripped his sleeve tighter. “Plo, could you escort Depa back to our quarters,” Mace asked his old friend. He put hands on Depa’s shoulders. “I won’t be long, Padawan. Master Koon will stay with you until I return.”

“Yes, master.” Depa leaned into him for a moment, taking strength from his presence. Then she straightened and released Mace’s robe. “Thank you for your help, Master Koon.”   


“No need, Depa. I have known you and your master too long for such niceties.” Plo gently guided Depa away leaving Mace to deal with Nu.

Nu’s face was more severe than Mace could recall seeing. “Nihilus,” she enunciated when he approached. She had the stasis case open but hadn’t deactivated the field. “A particularly nasty piece of work, part of Revan’s triumvirate.”

“How do you know?” Mace asked, unable to see anything like a label on the holocron.

“I know because Yan Dooku and I found this holocron a very long time ago. It should be in the Council’s vault.” Nu shut the stasis case. “Darth Nihilus was known as the ‘Wound in the Force’, Master Windu. We should be grateful at least one padawan survived.”

“Padawan Kenobi has survived much, Master Nu,” Mace reminded her sharply.

Nu tilted her head in acknowledgement. “I hope you’re right, Master Windu. But Nihilus was known to consume other Force users. Even if Padawan Kenobi survives I fear what seeds of corruption Nihilius might have left in fertile soil.”


	10. Chapter 10

Bant gripped Garen’s hand tighter. They weren’t supposed to be in the Halls of Healing, especially here in the stark, gray halls of the isolation wards. Quinlan carefully leaned around the corner at the end of the hallway. He held out a hand behind his back ready to signal Bant and Garen to run if he saw anyone. Bant held her breath, feeling her gills flutter nervously beneath the rubbery body suit she wore beneath her tunics to keep from drying out.

Quinlan’s whole body was tense, ready to spring back like a startled tooka at the slightest provocation. He looked up and down the connecting then barely twitched his fingers to summon his two friends. Reeft was on a mission, or he would be with them. Siri had refused to come. Bant had to dig deep for enough childhood blackmail to keep Siri from tattling on them to Master Gallia.

With Quinlan in the lead, they darted down the hallway full of empty rooms. The healers had put Obi-Wan far from any other patients. Only masters had been allowed to visit him, and only Master Yaddle and Master Jinn spent any time in Obi-Wan’s room. In fact, Master Jinn rarely left Obi-Wan’s room. It had made impossible to sneak in and see Obi-Wan for themselves.

So when Master Tahl had told Bant that she was having Master Jinn over to dinner, Bant had politely begged off. Master Tahl knew Bant wasn’t fond of Master Jinn and had excused her, promising they would go out for dinner at a Mon Cal restaurant the following night. Bant suspected she wouldn’t be leaving the temple any time soon if she and her crechemates were caught.

The door to Obi-Wan’s room was locked. Quinlan resisted his fingers lightly on the lock, closing his eyes. “Biolock,” he reported using his psychometry to understand how to open it. “No code.”

“That’s my cue.” Garen freed his hand from Bant’s and shouldered Quinlan to the side. He pulled a modified datapad the size of his palm out of the pouch on his belt. He plugged some wires into the bottom of the lock and did something on the datapad. There was a quiet chime and a click. The door slid open.

“How did you do that?”

Bant jumped, barely muffling a shriek. Quinlan darted in front of her and Garen. He raised his fists like he was intending to fight the voice.

Depa Billaba, the perfect council padawan, stood brazenly in the middle of the hall. If Bant had the sharp, hard teeth of her mammalian crechemates she would have bared them at the older girl. Everyone knew something bad had happened in the archives. Master Tahl had told Bant Obi-Wan had been hurt protecting Padawan Billaba from a Darkside artifact. No one was sure what it had done to Obi-Wan which was why he was being quarantined under Knight Healer Che’s care. Meanwhile, Depa Billaba was still going about her life as if nothing had happened.

Obi-Wan hated being alone. From Bant’s first memories Obi-Wan had needed the company of others to guard his sleep from the shapeless, all consuming nightmares that took him sometimes. He’d been her fiercest guardian when her mostly human crechemates had mocked her very different biology, a champion of everyone Bruck Chun and his lot had targeted. There wasn’t a more loyal friend Bant had seen in the Order. She had no doubt when things had gone wrong, Obi-Wan hadn’t just protected Padawan Billaba but thrown himself into danger’s fangs like he was worth nothing and she was everything. He didn’t know how to do any less.

So now the masters worried about the Darkside corrupting Obi-Wan, and Padawan Billaba was a hero for enduring long enough for her master to arrive and save them. Bant couldn’t help but hate her a little for it.

“What do you want?” Quinlan demanded harshly, too aggressive.

Rather than scolding him for not releasing his anger, Padawan Billaba clenched her own fists tightly at her sides. “I came to see Obi-Wan, but I couldn’t get the door open.” Bant, Garen, and Quinlan stared at her. “He’s my friend,” Padawan Billaba insisted. “He promised to help me look into ancient Mandalorian Force traditions. And when that… thing appeared, Obi-Wan saved my life. I froze. He’s the one who distracted it long enough for me to do something.”

“You were affected too,” Quinlan spat, “but you’re out here. And he’s locked in there. If you were his friend, you would have stayed with him.” If Quinlan had been in the archives with Obi-Wan, Bant knew the two boys would both be in the locked room together. She would have stayed with Obi-Wan too, and Garen would never leave Obi-Wan alone if he had a choice.

“He wasn’t okay,” Padawan Billaba said and her voice cracked halfway through the statement. “When Healer Che took him, I didn’t know I wouldn’t be able to see him again. Master Mace said that he’d be okay.”

Bant put her hand on Quinlan’s arm. “Let her come with. We’ll draw more attention if we’re all standing out here.”

Quinlan glared at Padawan Billaba. Bant pinched his arm. “Fine. But no one finds out about this from you,” Quinlan snapped. Padawan Billaba nodded her agreement eagerly and joined their small group.

They slipped through the door which Garen closed behind them using his datapad. Bant shivered. The room was oppressive, the air thick and metallic smelling. It was nothing like the quiet, light filled rooms she had stayed in during the standard childhood illnesses and one bad bout of dehydration. Those rooms were large and airy with four beds covered in tidy, white blankets that smelled of herbal healing salve. This room was so small they were bumping each other trying to avoid touching the strangely patterned walls.

The bed Obi-Wan had been laid in was more like a cot, narrow with a bare mattress and metal frame. Obi-Wan, at least, had been swaddled in familiar soft, white blankets used by the healers, a spot of brightness in the cell-like room. Obi-Wan himself was almost yellow compared to his blankets, with black bags under his eyes. Even his coppery hair seemed dull. His uneven breathing rasped loudly in the quiet room like the buzz of a droid with broken servos.

Bant went to the small screen attached to the bed which was monitoring his vitals. She’d only just started her advanced first aid course, but the healer teaching the class said she had a knack for the work. Running her fingers down the lines of numbers and symbols, she swallowed hard. “He’s in a coma. The healers say he still has a pain response, so that’s good. There’s also brain activity even if he’s non-responsive to other external stimuli.”

Her words seemed muffled by the oppressive weight pushing down on them. Quinlan was looking at the walls. His hands were pressed palm down tightly against his stomach to keep from brushing against anything. “What is this place?” he asked even though none of them would know. “The Force feels strange here. Can’t you feel it?”

Reaching out with her mind, Bant shuddered. The sensation of heaviness in the Force was even worse when she focused on it. It felt like her physics instructor described a black hole dragging her towards the nothingness where Obi-Wan lay in the bed. Padawan Billaba was pale as she grabbed Bant’s arm. “He didn’t feel that when they healers took him,” she told them, wide-eyed.

“Don’t.” Garen caught Quinlan’s hand as the older boy reached out. “Let me first. If you go down we’re definitely getting caught.”

They all held their breath as Garen reached down to hug Obi-Wan. “He’s cold.” Garen swallowed, startlingly loud unlike his words. “Don’t touch him, Quin. You’ll get sick.” Garen fussily smoothed Obi-Wan’s traditional padawan braid. Then he stepped back. “Bant?”

Bant didn’t know what to do. The sense of Obi-Wan was like a fragile shell covering a void. The slightest pressure would shatter it and send Obi-Wan and whoever was with him down into the dark. She was afraid to touch Obi-Wan, but Garen was closest to the Force in the cockpit of a fighter. Bant had always been the one with a knack for mending hurts.

She shook off Padawan Billaba’s restraining hand and reached out to touch Obi-Wan’s forehead. There was a scream like the wind whipping past the tallest towers in the temple during the storm. Ice crystals began to form in Bant’s bones sending tumbling to the ground, shivering.

Then there were warm hands on her face. Master Tahl was kneeling next to Bant. She shone in the Force with a powerfully warm, steady light that melted away the cold and fear. “Easy, my darling,” Master Tahl said. Her striped eyes were cloudy with scarring but as expressive as ever to Bant. Long, graceful, calloused fingers made sure Bant’s gills were completely covered before stroking lightly across her nose. “Shh, you’re safe now.”

“Obi,” Bant whispered using her old, childish name for her friend. “Master, there’s nothing inside him.”

“Unfortunately, dear one, it’s the opposite.” Master Tahl helped Bant sit up.

Bant was in one of the standard healing rooms. Her bed was comfortably large and soft. The air was humid and salty. Master Tahl sat on the mattress next to Bant, and Bant could see Quinlan and Garen in the other beds with their masters beside them. Master Tholme smiled kindly at her. His hand rested on Quinlan’s head smoothing over any bad dreams.

“Quin’s fine, Padawan Eerin. He tried to help you and got caught in a feedback loop.” 

Bant nodded stiffly. Garen was sitting up in his bed. Master Clee, a human half the size of her student, had her arm around Garen’s shoulder. “I’m okay,” Garen reassured Bant. “You fainted, and so did Quin when he touched you. I called Master Clee for help.”

“As you should have,” Master Tahl said firmly, putting her own arm around Bant. “First, I want you to all know you aren’t in trouble.” Bant blinked, looking to Garen who was also startled. They’d broken the rules. They’d snuck into Obi-Wan’s room. “We’ve spoken to Master Windu, and he agrees,” Master Tahl continued. “You had no reason to trust the masters’ judgement that Obi-Wan was safest in isolation, because we were forbidden to tell you why. Considering Padawan Kenobi’s history, you did the right thing with the information you were given.”

“What about Padawan Billaba?” Bant leaned into her teacher. “She just wanted to make sure Obi-Wan was okay.”

“Padawan Billaba is with her master. She’s not in trouble either,” Master Clee reassured Bant and Garen. “Master Windu has agreed we should explain Padawan Kenobi’s situation to you. However, we’d like to do this with all of you, including Padawan Billaba, at once. Obi-Wan is fine for the moment. Master Yaddle and Master Jinn are with him.”

There was a loud groan, and Quinlan reached up to put a hand over his eyes. “Ow.”

“You’re fine, padawan,” Master Tholme said with quiet amusement. “You got a second-hand jolt.”

Quinlan kicked up a fuss about his head, about the fact Obi-Wan wasn’t with them, and the fact he’d been changed into medical tunics. Master Tholme dealt with his whining with a bemused expression and a hand on his shoulder to settle him. It didn’t take long for Quinlan to realize something was wrong.

Master Windu was called for bringing Padawan Billaba with him. Master Yaddle and Master Jinn came too. Bant grabbed Master Tahl’s hand and wasn’t reassured when Master Tahl squeezed her fingers in return. Padawan Billaba was pale, huddled miserably by her master’s side.

“Padawans,” Master Windu said and he was somehow even grimmer than normal. “I’m afraid I don’t have good news. Padawan Kenobi and Padawan Billaba encountered a Sith holocron dating to the time of the Old Republic during their research in the archives. They were attacked by it, and Padawan Kenobi sustained injuries to his psyche we still don’t understand. The holocron belonged to a Sith who was known for corrupting and destroying Jedi. The reason Padawan Kenobi is being kept in isolation is we don’t know how this exposure to the Dark Side has affected him. Or if how it could affect others.”

“Sleenshit.” Quinlan’s obscenity made Bant flinch. “Billaba was there too! Why is Obi-Wan the one stuck in a cell?”

Now that Quinlan said it aloud Bant couldn’t deny the strange, locked room had been a prison cell. They also knew why Padawan Billaba wasn’t in a cell of her own. Council padawans in good standing didn’t get stuck in cells for having accidents with ancient artifacts, even Sith ones. Troublemakers who’d already been repudiated by their master didn’t get the luxury of trust.

“I am not happy about the situation either, Padawan Vos.” Master Yaddle spoke up firmly cutting off a further tirade. “However, for reasons unknown, the Dark has taken a hold of young Obi-Wan in a way it has not Depa. The treatment rooms once used for Jedi so afflicted are deep within the unused lower levels of the temple. The only similar facilities we have currently available are the rooms used to contain the untrained who have been taken by the Dark Side. It’s a temporary measure until Master Che can find a treatment option.”

“Can she help him?” Quinlan demanded so ferociously Master Tholme put a hand on his chest to keep him down. “We can’t feel anything but a void through our bonds with him.”

“I can reach him through our training bond,” Master Jinn said gravely. “Though my sense of him is faint.”

Master Yaddle nodded, lips pursed tightly. “Master Jinn is the only one currently able to sense his bond with young Obi-Wan. We’re not sure why.”

Bant’s breath caught in her throat. She heard Master Tahl asking if she was okay and nodded numbly. The world had gone cold. Not even Master Tahl’s presence could comfort her. She didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, nodding along when someone said her name. When Healer Che checked her over, Bant didn’t know what she said but it allowed her to be escorted to her room to rest. She laid down on the bed and let Master Tahl tidy her blankets, pretending to doze off. The moment the door closed behind Master Tahl, Bant lunged for Obi-Wan’s desk.

She’d seen the strange looking communicator Obi-Wan used to talk to his Mandalorians several times. He’d even showed her the code to unlock it. They’d thought she might need it in case he forgot to take his comm on a mission, and Bant would need to tell Jango. Her hands shook as she punched in the unlock code and called the only commcode saved in the directory.

“Ob’ika! Su’cuy!” The bright, friendly tone only made it harder as Bant’s throat locked up in panic. The boy on the other end asked curiously, “Ob’ika?”

“He’s in the Halls of Healing.” Bant didn’t recognize her own voice, how it shook and cracked. “Master Jinn is the only one who can sense him. I’m afraid he’s going to lie again, and they’ll hurt Obi.”

There was a long moment of silence then the boy said hoarsely. “Hold on. I’m going to call you right back on this comm. Okay?”

Bant nodded then remembered he couldn’t see her. “Yes.” The comm showed the call disconnecting. She sat in silence for what felt like hours until the comm buzzed to life in her hand. This time there were two small figures projected above her hand.

The shorter one spoke first, “Tell Jas’bu what you told me,” the boy ordered.

“Manners, Jan’ika,” the taller figure said calmly. “Bant? I’m guessing that’s you, verd’ika?”

Bant found herself choking rubbing at her neck as her gills gummed up, high pitched whistling coming from her nasal slits. She didn’t cry like most of her friends did. Her biology didn’t allow it. Still, the adult seemed to understand her noises of distress. “Shhh, udesii, verd’ika,” he said gently. “Breathe. We’ll deal with whatever’s happened. Breathe. Breathe.”

Bant rasped in breaths in time to the cadence the man patiently repeated. “There we go.” The man pulled off his helmet, and Bant recognized Jaster Mereel from Obi-Wan’s holos. The boy was Jango. “Tell me what’s wrong ad’ika. Where’s Obi-Wan?”

Taking another deep breath, Bant explained what Master Windu had told them. Then she got to the thing she couldn’t say to the masters. “Master Jinn claims he can still sense his bond with Obi-Wan even though no one else can reach him through the void.” She clenched the holocomm more tightly in her fist. “I’m afraid he’s lying. And if he thinks Obi-Wan is turning to the Dark Side that he’ll use it as an excuse to hurt him.”

“Okay.” Jaster put a hand on Jango’s shoulder to stop him from speaking. “Bant’ika, I want you to know that I trust Yaddle won’t let it get that far no matter what Jinn says. However, I’ll be headed to the temple as soon as we hang up. Is that acceptable?”

The burning tightness threaded through Bant’s gills eased. “Yes. Thank you.”

Jaster gave her a small, crooked smile carefully not showing his teeth the same way Jedi did. “One thing, Bant’ika. I want you to tell someone you trust, senior knight or master, about your concerns. It doesn’t have to be your teacher or Yaddle.”

“Master Tholme,” Bant said immediately. Quinlan’s master was quiet and a step outside temple politics. He was intense, a little scary sometimes, but Quinlan and Obi-Wan trusted him absolutely. “I’ll tell Master Tholme.”

“Thank you. Give us a few days, Bant’ika. We’ll be there.” Jaster patted Jango’s shoulder. “All of us.”

Bant shut-off the holocomm. She shivered finally feeling warm again. Her strongest connection was with the Living Force. She didn’t have Obi-Wan’s or Quinlan’s inclination for visions or more than a passing sense of the Cosmic Force. Still, that icy sense of need that had driven her to make the call was gone as if it’d never existed. Instead, there was only peace.

The door to her room chimed. “Come in,” she called expecting Master Tahl.

Quinlan slipped in while Master Tholme stood in the doorway to give them privacy. “Hey, you okay?” Quinlan asked, lingering by Obi-Wan’s neatly made bed. “You seemed… off when you left.”

Bant swallowed, grabbing Quinlan’s arm to steady herself. “Can I tell you something, Master Tholme?” she said hesitantly.

Master Tholme raised a surprised eyebrow but walked into the room. “Sit down, Quin,” he said mildly, taking his own seat on Bant’s desk chair across from where Bant sat at Obi-Wan’s desk. Putting his elbows on his knees, Master Tholme leaned down so he was at Bant’s eye level instead of towering over her. “You can say whatever you need to, Padawan Eerin. I’m listening.”


End file.
